


A Caretaker's Guide to Beast Taming

by Horobinota



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Claude enters starting Chapter 22, Edelgard enters starting Chapter 25, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), They're meant for each other, Work In Progress, byleth is an idiot, is that what this is, ive never actually done this before, oh well lets see what happens bare with me please, so is dimitri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-20 14:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 153,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20677070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horobinota/pseuds/Horobinota
Summary: Byleth manages to wake himself up two years earlier than usual, meaning he has a head start in trying to bring his favorite student back to his senses; preferably without anyone having to die in the process.Who knows, maybe the two still have the chance to stop Fodlan's endless cycle of war while they're at it.





	1. A Slight Chance of Showers

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy whatever this is. I don't usually write fanfiction and I definitely don't write romance but there's a first time for everything I guess. I don't really know how long this is gonna go, so come join me in this fun mysterious ride.

He had nothing better to do, at the moment. Nothing but listening to the sound of water sloshing in the rusted bucket he was lugging through the monastery. So, Byleth ruminated on his poor life decisions. Because those are the sorts of things you do when you’ve lived far too many lives.

He was getting awfully sick of all these failed runs. “Runs” he dubbed them, as it felt like a marathon every time. Awful marathons, the kind where you’re sweating buckets and puking blood and cursing the name of the idiot that signed you up for it, only the idiot is technically a major religious figure who may or may not have stuck a god in you. 

His second run was with the Golden Deer, naturally. It went well enough, and he was thankful for Claude’s penchant for getting people to talk. The true identities and history of the Church of Seiros, managing to weed out Those Who Slither In The Dark—a mouthful that never ceased to irritate Byleth when forced to say it—and even some choice details about Crest fuckery courtesy of Lysithea, all of it would have gone unmentioned in his life before. And he admired the uplifting nature those little gilded fawns provided, all things considered. 

He did another two runs after that, both failed quite spectacularly. 

As did his four Black Eagle runs. 

Boy, he hated those. There was something sickening about it, even if his students were kind enough. He tried everything he could think of at first; Siding with Edelgard, siding with Rhea. Trying to sabotage Edelgard from the inside, and then the same for Seiros. The only benefit was the gained knowledge, the new perspectives. The absolutely infuriating perspectives. He could never quite make it to the end, either. Not because he was unable, he just knew the end would never be the one he could be content with. Just another failure.

He went back to the Golden Deer one more time after that. That one didn’t last long. There’s a cruel irony that one can only remember their time travel after using it for the first time each run. Honestly, imagine throwing yourself in front of an axe to save a girl, and that’s when you remember everything about that girl trying to kill you. And about how that girl just will not talk about her feelings, something Byleth is fairly certain would solve everything.

What didn’t solve everything was when he just kind of… killed her himself. Turns out when you’re technically a representative of the church and you kill the future empress, Adrestia doesn’t really need to wait around for Edelgard to declare war against your employer. 

All things considered that wasn’t his most brilliant tactical move, but emotions are confusing and he was getting desperate. Either way, that run was cut pretty short. 

At this point, Byleth knew the only way to succeed in stopping the war and defeating Those Who Have An Unnecessarily Pretentious Name, was to do so before he took a swan dive off a cliff. There’s no way to do both without the knowledge of all three sides of Fódlan, but getting those three sides to cooperate… Well, therein lies the challenge.

It probably would have been easier if he’d even been able to talk to any of the Blue Lions his first few re-do’s. 

The Blue Lions were his first run. His life, so to speak; He had built a relatively happy one. Sure, there was heartbreak and loss, but Fódlan had been brought to peace. Everyone’s lives were wrapped in a neat little bow, and he’d made quite a pleasant life for himself with a particularly sleepy crest scholar. But there was always something nagging at him. Maybe it was Sothis, maybe it was just his own conscious. Maybe it was the way his best friend looked at him. He would without fail turn back time for his students if they fell in battle, yet for some reason he failed to do so when they fell into something worse.

Byleth kicked aside a piece of fallen masonry as he crossed the bridge, huffing softly. He was still guilty for ripping away those storybook endings. So much so he could hardly look any younger, bright and bushy tailed Faerghus kid in the eye the next time they met. Which made the day when he wandered into the Blue Lion’s classroom out of force of habit particularly odd, confusing them and the poor Golden Deer leader as he had to awkwardly shuffle his disoriented professor into the correct classroom. 

Seeing them on school grounds wasn’t exactly the hard part, though. It was an odd feeling, meeting them in real battle for the first time. Byleth recalled a bit of twisted pride, watching his own soldiers struggle against the Faerghus forces, and he was always curious to see what new classes they would master in a new run. Of course, by the time he met them in battle at Gronder, it marked his own failure. The loss of one of his three integral puzzle pieces. 

Cutting down the Prince of Faerghus was never fun, but he would meet him in battle himself every time. It always felt like he owed him that level of respect, at least. Divine Pulses were a rare thing for Byleth to rely on, yet in those moments he often found himself frantically rewinding time at the request of a lance pierced body part. Dimitri was always quite special that way.

A weaker huff escaped Byleth’s lips, his unbalanced steps echoing around the dilapidated cathedral, clumsily letting water spill out onto the dusty floor. It was Dimitri’s fault that he even started this stupid game. It’s his fault that he avoided choosing the Blue Lions again for this long, too. No matter how many runs he does, Byleth can always remember that laugh in the Holy Tomb. It’s not often you get to watch someone descend into madness in real time, especially not someone you care about enough to put up with five years later as he attempts to do a solo speed-run of war. Not something you want to personally experience for a second time.

Dammit, Dimitri. It’s your fault. If you could just swallow your pride for a second and get Edelgard to open up we wouldn’t be in this mess at all. Might be nice to save my dad’s life, for once.

Dammit, it’s your fault. If you still didn't look so sad for all those years maybe you all could have just died of old age in peace and I wouldn’t have gotten so obsessed with stopping this war. 

Dammit Dimitri, if you had just opened up to me earlier this run might not have failed too. 

Dammit, Dimitri. Dammit dammit dammit. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t still be here wasting my time. 

_“Dammit, Dimitri!”_ Byleth shouted, foisting his bucket of cold spring water onto the brooding blue figure. “I told you if you didn’t take a bath by the end of the month I was bringing the bath to you!”

\---

Alright, so maybe the surprise bucket bath wasn’t the most mature way to handle the situation, Byleth mused as he hid from the rabid (and slightly soggy) roaming lion in one of the vacant dorm rooms. 

He was so thrilled that this was his reward for figuring out how to wake himself up a few years earlier. Playing caretaker for his catatonic ex-student. 

Not like Byleth was certain waking himself up any earlier had much of a benefit at all, even if it took him a few runs to even figure out why his five year cat nap even happened. Similar to his father’s death (no that does not get any easier to watch, by the way) and Sothis’ disappearance, falling into the river was another instance of “fate”, Byleth’s new least favorite thing in the universe. No time shenanigans could keep him from tripping face first into the abyss. However, it turns out the “coma” was never a coma at all. In an instinctual panic, he’s able to freeze time on just his body state and nothing else, including the acceleration acting on it. By the time his time resumes, all that force is long gone and his body simply ragdolls itself back down. Unfortunately, stopping time on just one thing causes a few more hiccups than briefly turning everything back if you’re not paying attention, and that’s how you end up paused above an abandoned riverbank for five years.

But if you’re really focusing, you too can end up only three years into the future instead.

It’s a pretty useless skill, Byleth figured. But it might be useful if he finds himself about to die, and he doesn’t have time to work the days of energy into turning back time to a mercenary encampment about to be accosted by three oblivious noble children. God, turning back time that far sucks.

Maybe that’s why he hasn’t done it yet, Byleth lied to himself. 

He poked his head out the dorm room window enough that his luminescent green hair shouldn’t attract attention. From there he could observe the boar prince in his natural habitat, brandishing a rusty spear and spewing death threats Byleth is somewhat sure he wouldn’t actually act on. With his blonde hair sticking to his face and the fur on his cloak matted down with water, his resemblance to an angry post-bath cat was striking. 

Byleth’s eyes lit up, just a little. It’s the liveliest he’s seen Dimitri in weeks. 

He didn’t like to latch on to unlikely hopes, and the hope that this run is at all salvageable now that Garreg Mach has fallen is practically childish to hold on to. Byleth supposed he still has until Gronder, before shy little Bernadetta is felled on that center podium, to turn it around. Before any students are killed. And yes, he does have an extra two years to work with before the Blue Lions’ unhappy reunion. So logically there’s no reason to restart too early, and deal with all that nasty guilt and the innocent eyes looking to you for guidance you’ve failed to give time and time again. 

Byleth wonders if guilt is the only emotion he’s allowed to feel nowadays. Because all of that war-ending logic is bullshit. He hasn’t restarted because he finally has a chance to make up for the mistake he’s made on every single damned run. 

To be there for the student who needed him the most.

Even when that student sends a spear through the window two inches above his professor’s head.

...But hey, he has better aim than that. He missed on purpose. Probably.


	2. A Stunning Conversationalist

Byleth was at a loss. 

While the bucket incident did well to get his student up and moving around temporarily, it certainly did not turn out to be a long term solution. The rut growing in front of the Great Cathedral Rubble Pile was a sure sign of that. 

Byleth really did not know how to approach Dimitri, especially not now. It’s not like this was all that different from the first time; In fact, their reunion had been strikingly similar despite the two year time difference. Dimitri’s ragged hair had been just a touch shorter, his brilliantly blue cloak slightly less faded. To Byleth’s complete surprise, Dimitri still had both eyes still intact, even if they were just as cloudy as he remembered. But his words and visceral disgust had been much of the same. It always hurt to hear him talk like that. Byleth had become used to his distant snarls on the battlefield, but hearing of the regrets that kept him awake every night, and hearing that snarl devolve into a raspy command for solitude? That he’d worked to push out of his mind. Byleth began to wonder what Dimitri had thought when he’d hear Ashe or Lysithea sputter concerns over ghosts in the monastery, when he was being haunted every night. 

God, I could really use Ashe right now, Byleth thought to himself as he worked to clear rubble from the greenhouse. He figured a two year start to the project would save time in the long run, and he was sure Dedue would appreciate having his favorite building functioning. 

Byleth bemoaned to himself. Dedue, you would be doing such a better job than me right now. 

The lack of students, that’s what made this hard. While they all collectively failed to bring Dimitri back from the brink before Rodrigue’s death the first time, he at least knew he could go to them for advice. Byleth wracked his brain to imagine what someone might tell him. 

Felix would probably tell him to go fuck himself, in fewer words. Not very helpful. Sylvain would be equally unhelpful, althought his answer would likely be closer to fucking someone other than himself. 

Ingrid or Ashe would likely suggest making small, achievable goals. Not a bad idea, actually. Mercedes and Annette would insist he act mindfully of their Prince’s wishes and boundaries; A good point, but difficult to follow considering those boundaries are what’s stopping him from accomplishing anything in the first place. But its true, if he was to get Dimitri to do anything other than brood, he would need to regain his trust again. 

Dedue would offer his assistance in whatever task Byleth presented, but obviously that won’t be much help for a couple years. 

Byleth sighed again, a repetitive action even he was getting sick of. Small, achievable goals. Is basic hygiene small enough? Maybe not, no matter how desperately Byleth wished it was. He couldn’t even pester Dimitri into cleaning the blood off his armor, let alone bathing and brushing his hair. Eating? That seems closer, but it’s something he’s already tried and failed, and Byleth was sick of watching perfectly good plates of meat go untouched. 

The sound of heavy and unsteady footsteps broke Byleth out of his brainstorming session. 

He poked his head out of the greenhouse entrance just in time to see Dimitri make his way up the stairs, undoubtedly heading back to his spot in the cathedral. The lance he always gripped tightly was tipped with red, quickly drying to brown, as were his gloves and arm guards. Byleth idly wondered why he never bothered to train Dimitri in gauntlets, if he was always so eager to use his hands to fight. He didn’t bother to say hello, he knew better than that.

This was the one routine Byleth had managed to construct in the month or so since he’d returned. As foolish thieves and the rare Imperial guard came to investigate the monastery grounds, the professor and his student would alternate who came to meet them. One fighter was usually enough to deal with unskilled bandits and soldiers. On the very rare occasion that the invading force was a touch too big, or when Dimitri just happened to be feeling antsy, the two would work together. Ever since their initial reunion and the occasional mishap, these were the only moments Byleth could get a proper verbal response from Dimitri. Albeit, the conversations were usually limited to halfhearted tactical orders Dimitri would promptly ignore and shout threats over. Regardless, Byleth found some comfort in the fact that Dimitri could still speak; He always resented Felix’s “boar prince” label, but His Highness wasn’t doing much to act human nowadays. 

Byleth’s head suddenly popped up, seafoam eyes lighting up. Talking. That was it, that was his first little step. 

Of course it had taken a while to occur to him, talking wasn’t exactly his favorite past-time either, nor was it something he was skilled at. But if he could just get Dimitri to talk to him, to say more than “go away”, then that was something. Something to build trust with. And something to break the infuriating silence of Garreg Mach. 

\---

It wasn’t exactly hard to get near Dimitri, per say. But he didn’t exactly exude an inviting aura about him, which was why Byleth decided to use his position next to the mountain of religious debris as an excuse. 

_It might be easier if it seems like I didn’t come here with the express purpose to chat_, Byleth thought to himself as he carried his fifth armful of boulder bits to the bucket he brought with him. Rubble hitting metal was the only sound that echoed around the building. Dimitri had yet to voice any concern, but Byleth could feel his eyes on him the entire time. Cold, empty eyes, and yet they were the same striking shade of blue that always managed to catch Byleth’s attention. He knew better than to try to look back and meet his gaze; just the same as with any other cat in the monastery, eye-contact only means you’re threatening him. 

It was such an unnerving, awkward silence. There was a time when he could sit quietly with his students, and it was the best moment of the day. The moments where he could be grading papers whilst Annette turned the pages of whatever magic textbook had caught her eye that day. Moments where he could cross blades with Felix without a word passing between them. Moments where he could stand back to back with Dedue and let the flowers they tended to do the speaking. Moments between light hearted conversations and laughter amidst an afternoon tea where he and Dimitri could just enjoy each others’ company. 

Byleth lingered around the bucket, a few more trips and it would be too heavy to carry to the disposal site. He lingered, and he wondered if Dimitri missed having company. He didn’t seem to miss it as much as Byleth, obviously, but he still couldn’t stop wondering. He continued to wonder as he hesitantly kicked away a rock he’d missed and sat down, just a couple feet to Dimitri’s side. Enough to be clearly in his line of vision, and even so he could still see the prince’s figure tense up. Dimitri didn’t know what Byleth’s intentions were, and it made him nervous. But the professor just chose to sit there, looking out at colorful shards that used to make up a stained glass window. 

He sat there for a while, watching the dust his activity had kicked up fall back into place. He cast the occasional glance at the figure next to him, perfectly rigid, like his pitch black armor was made of charcoal, about to crumble with any movement. Except there was a little movement. He was just close enough to see how Dimitri wobbled, just a little. He would lurch forward slightly, never quite steady on his feat. Had he let go of his spear, it’s possible he would simply topple over. 

If Byleth caught him, would he earn back a little trust? 

Then again, he’s failed to catch his student from falling more than once. 

He should have just asked Dimitri what was wrong. And kept asking when he would give that polite smile and affirm that nothing was amiss. Byleth was so afraid of saying the wrong thing, he said nothing at all. And that was the worst thing he could have done.

_I’m not good at talking, Dimitri. But I can listen._

A sudden movement caught his eye, the tattered ends of his cape shifting out of Byleth’s peripheral vision. He snuck a glance up, only to be met with eyes staring at him between tangled strands of gold; Dimitri had held his position for so long, to see him move so suddenly startled the man sitting beside him. 

“...I said that out loud, didn’t I.” Byleth swore under his breath. He really, really wasn’t any good at talking. Dimitri didn’t respond, but he also didn’t look away. It was a terribly odd feeling. Despite the fact that they’d been together for weeks now, had even fought on the same grounds a few times, this felt like the first time Dimitri had properly looked at him since they first reunited. 

“Would you like me to go away?”

Byleth wasn’t sure if Dimitri’s silence was the answer he wanted.


	3. Some Light Reading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy this is a long boy. Apologies for anyone who finds reading the italic text difficult, this will probably be the only chapter that would have this issue.

Byleth had always been a special kind of oblivious. 

If speaking was his weakness, picking up on emotional cues was his fatal flaw. 

All of his students knew this, but it was particularly hilarious and infuriating for the Blue Lions. It was clear as day that their house leader had a certain affection for the professor, but while love may be blind, Byleth was somehow blinder. 

Aside from graciously accepting the title of “Professor”, Byleth had never really embraced the role as was intended. He still gave lectures and tests, but it always came across more as the work of an overenthusiastic upperclassmen than anything else. It was beneficial for him in the long run, as any staff member who would spend their time eating dinner amongst students and inviting them to private tea parties would get a harsh scolding courtesy of Seteth. Yet everyone seemed to ignore Byleth’s odd socializing style. Perhaps it was the near non-existent age gap (or, the assumed one, considering no one could pin down Byleth’s actual age), or the seeming lack of a power-imbalance as Byleth fought, studied and even tested himself alongside his students. Either way, Byleth was free to continue offering drinks and gifts in his quiet displays of affection, all the while inadvertently courting one noble in particular. 

One noble whose water-damaged but legible journal made for a very jarring afternoon read. 

Byleth kept glancing over his shoulder at the door frame, always slightly paranoid that an imposing figure would be there, here to rip the book out of his hands and beat him with it. The concern was completely irrational, especially considering it had been Dimitri himself who had dropped the journal unceremoniously in front of him. 

Byleth fidgeted with the torn note that had been shoved inside the front cover, recalling how he had frozen with a forkful of elk meat held half in his mouth as the book thumped against the table, stunned at the sight of the prince willingingly leaving his preferred station for a reason other than battle. He regretted not reacting sooner, as the moment he’d worked up his question, Dimitri had already stalked back out of the dining hall. 

He peeked at the note for what must have been the umpteenth time. One word, barely readable thanks to the shaky lettering and large stain of ink at the end. Dimitri must have broken the quill pen tip after pushing down too hard. It wouldn’t have been the first time, the thought pulling at Byleth’s nostalgia.

“Listen.”

So he had gotten his beast to speak after all. Or rather, he seemed to be having his past self speak for him. Too little too late, perhaps, but it was enough to bring back Byleth’s hope after his fumble in the cathedral days before. He idly flipped back through the pages he’d already examined. An entry for every day, save for conspicuously empty spots around the end of the Pegasus Moon. From then on the entries were scattered and erratic. He’d lost track of how many times the phrase “I’ll kill her” cropped up before he couldn’t stand to keep going forward.

Instead, he flipped back. 

_“I arrived at Garreg Mach Monastery today. It really is just as impressive as everyone seems to believe, but I cannot help but feel slightly suffocated. Perhaps everyone’s formality is doing it; My classmates all seem to be such wonderful people, but they seem to shy away and strain their vocabulary for the most respectful language they can think of. Well… everyone save Felix, Sylvain and Ingrid. I do hope they will show the others <strike>I’m not someone to be afraid of</strike> they have no need for formality around me.”_

_“Felix is being even colder towards me than before we arrived. I know Ingrid insists I shouldn’t take what he says to heart, but I fear she doesn’t realize how accurate it is. Even so, it is becoming harder to stomach. I have no idea how to approach him about it. He seems happiest during a spar, but that seems like a poor time for a heart to heart.”_

_“I have never been more thankful to have Dedue by my side. And in the kitchen with Ashe, if it means it keeps Annette out of it. She is such a sweetheart, but… Well, I suppose I of all people should not talk about destroying school property.”_

_“Classes are to start quite soon. I do wonder who our professor is. Hanneman seems knowledgeable enough, but it seems my classmates would much rather prefer a hands-on approach to learning than a book lecture. Manuela is a capable physician certainly, Mercedes would likely flourish under her instruction, but… I shudder to imagine Sylvain as one of her students. And the third option… Why, I don’t even think I know his name, he’s hardly impressive at all. I would not be surprised if he was to be replaced. Oh well.”_

_“Today was uneventful, but I can’t help but feel anxious for tomorrow. Apparently, the house leaders are to go out on small mission without the rest of our class. I have spoken with Claude from time to time, and he is kind if not infuriatingly nosey. But… Well, being around Edelgard has been challenging. She has hardly spoken a word to me, unless it is to critique something I may have done or said. I hope tomorrow will help break down some walls between the three of us. ...Goddess, I do wish I could stop wondering if she still has that dagger."_

Byleth didn’t know what he felt reading through the entries. He could feel himself trying to shield his heart, as every day was laced with a sadness exacerbated by what Byleth knew would happen in this young man’s future. The neat handwriting always pressed just a little bit too hard into the parchment, politely admitting to no one in particular that he was an irredeemable monster attending school for revenge. His self-deprecation was juxtaposed against every kind thing he had to say about his friends. Brilliant, kind, chivalrous, brave, strong—common adjectives to be found next to every name except Dimitri’s own. 

Byleth shook his head, and moved on to the next page, his eyes widening just a little bit. 

_“Our professor’s name is Byleth. I do not think any of us plan to call him anything other than his proper title, of course. Even if he assured us we were free to speak casually to him. I wonder if it is just as hard for me as it is for the others to speak to me informally. I hope it will become easier, especially as at first glance he could easily be confused for a classmate. His words were kind enough, but his face is stern and from what I saw of his fighting skills the day before his talent in battle will be hard to match. He doesn’t seem to emote at all. I don’t know what to think of him.”_

_“Our class went into battle today. I don’t think I saw Professor react with any sort of emotion once as he cut down his foes. It is… unsettling. But his commands were sound and we made it through without more than scrapes and bruises, so I suppose I should be happy.”_

_“My fears are finally assuaged, although I can’t help but grow more curious about the Professor. We spoke before, and he admitted that he did feel poorly about killing his enemies. He is not the demon my anxious mind was building him up to be, and I am so thankful. But now I’m caught admiring his control. I know my own habits, perhaps he may help me learn to keep my emotions in check in the heat of battle.”_

_“I could not keep my eyes off of Professor during the lecture today. He always speaks with such confidence, I have much to learn about leading still. We are to spar later today, and I’m quite excited. I still have to hold back on my physical strength, but I feel like I can move freely in combat with him. And he is so patient, no matter how many training weapons I manage to break.”_

_“Professor gave me a bundle of forget-me-nots today. He gives gifts to students quite frequently, so I do not know why my heart fluttered so.”_

_“I am to focus on riding skills for the time being. It seems as though the Professor himself is a bit unfamiliar with horseback riding. I’m eager to perfect this, perhaps he would allow me to take him riding one day.”_

_“Professor smiled today. I hope he smiles tomorrow, too.”_

_“Sylvain keeps commenting on my supposed “puppy-dog eyes” during lecture. I am simply trying to concentrate on what Professor has to say. Although, I seem to have begun neglecting my notes for some reason.”_

_“I was able to speak to Professor today about my… past, with Edelgard. He listened so intently, so patiently, I suddenly felt as though I could spill everything in my heart to him. I just barely stopped myself from doing so, in fact. ...I deeply regret not asking him for a dance.”_

_“Mercedes and Annette keep giggling at me for some reason.”_

_“I was late to my spar with Ingrid. She seemed… Prepared for me to be late, oddly enough. I stayed a bit later in class to speak to Professor about some things, perhaps she noticed.”_

_“Ashe suggested I go to tea with Professor in his place. It’s odd, he didn’t seem to have any other commitments.”_

_“Dedue gave me a bundle of flowers he had been growing, and informed me that they were the Professor’s favorite. There was nothing else to do but to give them to him, really, but I was surprised when Dedue insisted I tell Professor they were from me, not him. But after seeing those eyes light up at the sight of them, I don’t think I could have admitted they were Dedue’s idea even if he told me to.”_

_“We almost lost him today. I think I would have lost myself had he not returned. But to rip a hole in nothing with a divine sword? I felt as though I was looking at some kind of vengeful angel sent to protect us all. I had not realized how badly I needed him by my side until he was almost gone.”_

Byleth’s eyes stopped on the last entry of the Guardian Moon, just a single sentence, feeling the flush that had been steadily creeping down his face flare up. He felt odd, as though he was intruding on private matters, even if they were willingly shared. Or perhaps he just didn’t know how to deal with the odd way his heart felt, alternating between shame, regret, and a deep affection that he had been swallowing the whole school year.

_“How long have I been in love with Byleth?”_

\---

Byleth fingered the pages of Dimitri’s journal, his mind struggling to process everything he was thinking. Everything he was feeling.

He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he held an unusual amount of affection for the prince. He wasn’t ready to call it love, because loving someone proved to be a death sentence in Byleth’s eyes. But it was something that always kept him coming back to Dimitri. It was probably what finally forced him to choose to teach the Blue Lions once again. 

And as for love, does this Dimitri have any left to give? What was even the purpose of showing him this journal in the first place? Byleth grabbed a fistful of minty hair in frustration, wracking his brain. Was this some kind of sick punishment? A reminder about how badly he failed once again? Certainly, whatever Dimitri felt for him now was a far cry from companionship. 

Byleth smacked the book down on the desk in frustration, some of the pages flipping back open. Smudges of ink caught Byleth’s eye; They were darker and messier, with no dates to be seen. But they were entries, ones Byleth had missed. He’d assumed the entries would have stopped after the battle at Garreg Mach. It was genuinely surprising to see that Dimitri had continued to use his journal, the fact that he’d even bothered to look for it in the rubble. Perhaps there was a part of him still desperate for any shred of familiarity as he was forced to watch his world crumble around him. Byleth couldn’t blame him. 

_“It’s too quiet here now.”_

Most of the entries were one sentence, sporadically mentioning “rat infestations” that Byleth figured were bouts of bandits or imperial guards. More threats towards Edelgard scrawled between mentions of voices that wouldn’t go away. Mention of killing a wild demonic beast for its fur as winter approached, how he came across ill-fitting black armor nestled in the back of the armory. But his eyes kept drawing to a few entries in particular.

_“He promised to come back in five years. I will wait.”_

_“I cleaned his room.”_

_“I wish he would arrive soon.”_

_“Please do not come to haunt me as well.”_

_“He shouldn’t see me like this.”_

_“Please don’t be ashamed of me.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

Byleth stared at the page and how the entries trailed off to nothing at that point, before looking up and around at his room. Of course he hadn’t noticed. Upon his return to the monastery, he had found his room shockingly livable. Little more than gathered dirt and dust, all he had to do was scrounge up a new set of bedsheets and a more intact chair for his desk. Even some of his books had been placed—albeit haphazardly—on the unbroken parts of his bookshelves. His room had fared far better than the commoners’ dorms next to him, or even the nobles’ rooms above. It was so obvious.

Byleth swore for a solid minute as he walked out of his room, tucking the journal under his cloak, nestled inside his belt. Heading for the cathedral, he decided to take a slight detour, still mumbling dozens of variants on “I’m an idiot”. 

\---

Byleth stood a few feet behind his student, gripping a small handful of forget-me-nots, ages of relying on nature alone for care leaving them dull and wilted. He had always found the blue and gold of the petals a good mirror for the blue of Dimitri’s uniform cape and the gold streaks of his hair. Now it seemed as though they wilted to match the way His Highness hunched over his lance, like the weight of a thousand lives rested there and there alone. He cleared his throat, although he was sure Dimitri had noticed his presence the moment he’d stepped into the room.

“Thank you for cleaning my room while I was gone.”

The prince didn’t turn around, but Byleth could see movement. His shoulders seemed to relax, just slightly. His grip loosened on the lance. And his head turned, just enough to see an icy eye peek out between strands of greasy, matted hair. It fixated on the flowers in Byleth’s hand. There was excruciating silence.

“...Of course, Professor.” Dimitri’s voice was raspy, and harsh, and cold. But it was a voice.

Byleth bent down, setting the flowers down, feeling a rush of apprehension and relief at the same time. He wasn’t going to push Dimitri too hard. Trust, that was still Byleth’s goal. He was trusted enough with battle, and with that journal. He did not figure gifts and touching were apart of that trust yet. 

Don’t look angry, Byleth reminded himself. Don’t look with pity. Don’t look ashamed.

“I would like your help with something, tomorrow.”

There was no response. The blue eye flicked from the flowers on the ground, back up to Byleth. He let Dimitri decide when eye-contact was okay. No reason to stress him further. And he had been right all those years ago, Byleth was very patient.

He continued. “We’re almost out of stored food, and the last group of bandits didn’t leave us with enough money to go out and buy much more.” 

No response, but Byleth’s student had yet to turn away. He was still listening.

“I plan to go hunting when the sun rises. I would-” He was cut off by sudden movement. Byleth watched Dimitri straighten somewhat, and turn to face him. He walked forward, stepping over the flowers, bringing himself closer to his professor. Byleth couldn’t tell if he had intentionally avoided treading on the flowers, or if it was a coincidence.

The prince towered over Byleth, intimidating even despite his characteristic swaying. He looked down through long blonde eyelashes, meeting Byleth’s curious gaze. 

“I will join you.”


	4. An Autumn Picnic

Byleth fiddled with the end of his iron bow, listened to the sound of dead leaves crushing under his boots, scanned the horizon to note the most mundane details of his surroundings, anything to distract him from the eyes he could feel boring into the back of his head. There was a certain irony in feeling like he was the one being hunted right now. 

He glanced back at the figure following a ways behind him. Dimitri’s stride was shockingly quiet at the moment, compared to the usual a-rhythmic thumping of his steps in the monastery. He knew how to account for the movements of his cape and the weight of his armor, using the end of his lance to steady himself when necessary. It shouldn’t really be that surprising, Byleth figured. The prince had been fending for himself long before he turned up. He quickly flicked his eyes back towards the overgrown path after meeting Dimitri’s for a moment too long. 

Save for a strained “Hello, Professor,” upon meeting him at the Garreg Mach front gates, Dimitri remained as silent as ever. While necessary when they slipped down side paths frequented by wayward thieves, the silence had become particularly overwhelming this deep into the surrounding forest. Any attempt at conversation on Byleth’s part was met with grunts or one word answers. 

But he was here, Byleth reminded himself. It was progress. But it was also why he startled when Dimitri’s voice broke through the silence, low and softer than he was used to hearing.

“Stop, Professor. There’s something ahead.” Byleth slowed to a halt, and felt Dimitri approach his side, his cape brushing up against him for just a moment. His eyes were fixated on something Byleth couldn’t quite see, the icy blue clear and sharp for once. He had a moment to examine his student’s face without the pressure of a returning glare. 

His heart twisted as he realized how gaunt that face had become. Cheeks sunken in and dark circles under the eyes, little scars fading poorly. His skin was paler than the porcelain everyone had dined on when life was kinder to him. In all honesty, Byleth didn’t remember him looking so ragged. But there were echoes of that old Dimitri there, he noticed. The sharpness of his jaw, the tow-colored eyelashes that drooped over perpetually exhausted eyes, the way his eyebrows knitted together when he concentrated—

Byleth frowned to himself. He didn’t remember having constructed such a detailed depiction of the prince, yet there it was. It was strange, and he didn’t care for the instinctual embarrassment that accompanied it. 

A rustling of branches snapped Byleth out of his stupor before he could further explore this line of questioning, and a part of him appreciated it. Following Dimitri’s line of sight, he spotted what his student must have sensed the moment before; A stag, grazing without a care in its own little world. It was a wonder that Dimitri had been able to tell it was there, considering as far as Byleth could tell it had been out of sight and out of hearing until this very second. 

Perhaps the Boar Prince had that good of a nose, Byleth mused, before deciding that might be an insensitive thought to think. 

He felt Dimitri’s gaze return to him and he glanced up to meet it. Byleth watched as he looked from Byleth to the bow in his hand, as if saying, “Go on, then.” Damn brat is so lazy nowadays; can’t be bothered to cook, clean, use that inhuman arm of his to spear deer from thirty feet away, nothing. And so, Byleth reached for the arrows strapped in the quiver on his back, careful not to let the sound of scraping metal signal their presence from behind the brush. He shifted his stance and nocked the arrow, beginning to move purely on muscle memory from a lifetime ago. 

Byleth could hear an amused chuckle echo in his ears, as if Claude was lounging about behind him. “Using a bow to take down a deer, Teach? What cruel irony.”

He hadn’t used a bow personally, the first time. But it _is_ an effective way to take down a mounted flier. When they meet on opposite sides of the field, Byleth was sure his skills would be enough to take care of him. 

...Wait, “when”? 

Byleth’s arrow flew from his bow in a clumsy arc, landing on the ground just in front of his target. He stared in wide-eyed disbelief not at his spectacular miss, but at his own mind. His own… indifference. To speak so bluntly of firing upon a student he had been guiding only months before, let alone for years worth of runs? Had he already forgotten of his goal? Had-

_Thunk._

The stag crumpled to the ground in a heap, lance embedded deep enough in its neck that it pierced through to the other side. Dimitri was still paused in a flawless throwing form, before gradually straightening and looking back down at Byleth, confusion written across his face. Byleth scrambled to put together an explanation, but he was faster.

“Why did you bring a bow? I never saw you training with one,” Dimitri questioned, quite possibly the most he had spoken at once to Byleth in a month. 

“I…” The professor struggled to put together an answer that wasn’t ‘I focused on archery skills two time-travels ago’. “...My father had taught me briefly when I was a child. They’re far more useful in hunting than swords, wouldn’t you say?”

“...  
...When you can hit your prey, yes.”

With that, Dimitri stalked off to retrieve his lance. His response was factually sound, but the way he paused before answering added a touch of mockery to the words that Byleth resented. And appreciated, strangely. There was a familiar emotion behind it. A trained politeness masking the childish instinct to poke fun, something Byleth had watched employed by the Blue Lions quite frequently. Without even realizing, it had relaxed Byleth into forgetting about his previous mental hiccup. 

Almost.

===

Byleth watched the reflection of the fire in the blade of his hunting knife, freshly cleaned of deer blood. It was late, he was hungry, they had a bagful of raw protein and the two men were still a ways from the monastery. All reason enough to pause for dinner. Dimitri hadn’t objected, although Byleth was still unsure if he would accept food. He’d set up two skewers of venison on the off-chance his optimism proved true, but if Dimitri decided to continue his trend of refusing supper, well. Byleth was not exactly known for his small appetite. 

He looked up in hopes of spotting his companion amongst the growing shadows of the forest, but Dimitri was nowhere to be seen. As he had been setting up the campfire, his student had announced his intent to return before stalking off too quickly for Byleth to stop him. Maybe Byleth’s offer to clean the gore off Dimitri’s lance had scared him off. 

“Thanks for leaving me alone with my thoughts, friend,” Byleth grumbled aloud to the apathetic vegetation surrounding him, setting down his knife and pulling his knees up to his chest, plopping his chin down between them. His green bangs fell further into his face, the fire light illuminating his hair more than it already naturally appeared to glow. His mind travelled once again to the conclusion he was beginning to fear.

This would be his last chance. His last run.

The idea of growing indifferent to the horrors of war frightened him. In Byleth’s mind, his students were no longer looking like people, but storybook characters. Or worse, pawns to be managed for some grander, godly purpose. But they weren’t, they were people. Sometimes they were children with grander aspirations than carrying bodies back from battle.

And they were all so, so tired. 

Byleth had self-imposed a cycle of misery onto his students, and it was one that was taking its toll. He fidgeted with the ends of his hair, his mind wandering back to Dimitri’s haggard expression. How many times had he forced the young prince to lose his mind? How much of the darkness beneath his eyes was his fault?

The fire crackled back at him in response, warming Byleth’s fatigued body. He was tired. He could not stand to watch his father die again, his students suffering again. His family, suffering. This was it. Byleth couldn’t help but wonder if this war was the same as this fate he detested. If he was trying to stop what was impossible to stop, attempting to fabricate the perfect ending never meant to exist. 

He gripped his knees tighter, digging his nails into his flesh, feeling a rare but familiar pressure at the back of his eyes. He was about to watch himself fail for the last time. He was going to fail everyone that looked up to him. The students, the church. Claude, Edelgard, Rhea, Dimitri. He had put all of them through hell, time and time and time again, for nothing more than a fake happy ending where the winners lose sleep at night and the losers died because the wrong professor picked their class. 

And Byleth would spend the rest of his life watching Dimitri put on that same polite smile he always clung to, hiding the dagger scar on his right shoulder under royal armor, agonizing over what he could have done to save her and how to atone for a lifetime of sins. 

And now he gets to watch those sins in real time.

Byleth mumbled to the ground below him, “I’ve failed you, Dimitri…”

“...You are letting dinner burn.”

..?

Byleth popped his head up, only for it to be thrown back down by the weight of something unceremoniously dropped on his shoulders. It was warm, and heavy and… wet.

“...Ew..?” Byleth held up his arm, seeing blood trickle down his sleeve and stain the grass below him. Dimitri had already moved out from behind him, rescuing the charred deer meat from the fire. Byleth couldn’t seem to care, as he was too busy examining the object currently staining his coat. It was an animal pelt of some unidentifable kind. One that had obviously not been properly prepared for wearing. 

“You were pale. Your hands shook when you fired the bow.” Byleth looked up to see Dimitri hovering over him, a skewer thrust towards him. Hesitating a moment, he took it, and watched as the prince backed away and sat opposite him from across the campfire. His lance rested propped up against his body, fresh blood glistening against the rusting metal. The fire light revealed a similar gleam trailing up his arms from his hands. 

“...Did you think I was cold..?”

Byleth got no response, but instead was met with his student ripping in to the other venison skewer. It was… A touch disgusting, actually. Table manners weren’t a high priority at the current moment, but at the very least he could have washed the blood off his hands, which was now getting smeared on his dinner, and by extension, his face. He was tearing into the meat like an animal, all fangs and claws, getting grease and blood in his hair.

Yet here he was, sitting and eating the food Byleth prepared for the first time in three years. 

And here Byleth was, sitting underneath a slimy, disgusting, smelly chunk of fur that was for all intents and purposes, a gift. 

And it was all Byleth could do to not burst into tears on the spot. His hand brushed over his hip, where Dimitri’s journal was still secretly tucked, remembering the young man’s admiration of how well his professor managed his emotions. 

Of how much he admired his professor. Of how much he loved Byleth. 

Byleth picked at the meat on his skewer, determination spreading subtly across his face, regaining some kind of resolve. No, he had not failed yet. His students could be saved yet, the war stopped early. And he still had two years left. Two years he could dedicate to easing the pain he had placed on the young man in front of him.

Byleth pulled the fur around him instinctively, the chill of the night settling in. His gift. 

There was really no reason for such a thing to make his heart pound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this one was long and angsty. I think the next one will be a bit fluffier. I gotta listen to my own tags I guess.


	5. A Lazy Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was (and currently am) incredibly sleepy while writing this, if you couldn't tell. Anyways we've made it a whole five chapters. I'm glad ya'll seem to be enjoying this despite the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing. Hope ya'll like this chapter too.

Byleth did his best not to betray the flash of excitement in his eyes as he watched Dimitri sit down next to him, paying no mind to the cold stone floor beneath them. This was new, Byleth mused as he bit into a fork full of seared pike he had fished up the day before. 

Ever since they returned from their shared hunting trip, Byleth had noticed a growing dip in his make-shift food storage. He hadn’t known where Dimitri had been getting his meals from before then, but now it was clear he was picking from what Byleth had previously hunted, fished, trapped, or otherwise managed to stumble upon that seemed remotely edible. Whether or not Dimitri was also cooking these things remained a mystery, but he hoped for the sake of Dimitri’s immune system he hadn’t regressed so far as to gamble with raw meat.

Either way, it encouraged Byleth enough to start cooking two plates worth of meals once more. He had given that up relatively quickly after his return to the monastery, as the sight of perfectly good food going cold on its plate somehow frustrated him more than Dimitri’s silence or lack of personal hygiene. He wasn’t exactly hopeful this second time around, but that made the sight of an empty plate resting outside his door the next morning that much more exciting. And funny, too. Despite having initially left it on one of the pews within the cathedral, the prince had bothered to bring the remaining dish all the way to a spot where Byleth couldn’t miss it. He couldn’t help but make the connection between that and a pet eager to show off its little accomplishments. 

He continued to prepare meals for the prince, content in knowing for certain that Dimitri would not now manage to give himself salmonella. But it seemed as though he’d encountered another roadblock. If he left the dish in any place other than the cathedral, it would sit untouched. Byleth had hoped he could cajole Dimitri into eating with him, like he had at the campfire. Yet after every effort, inevitably Byleth would spend his meal alone, staring ruefully at the extra food he felt a little too guilty to eat. Whatever irrational paranoia about Byleth poisoning his meals or some such must have faded, but there was still something about sitting at a proper table that caused Dimitri to blanch. 

Well then, Byleth huffed. If he will not come to me, then I will just have to come to him. 

Initially, Byleth had sat in one of the back pews, munching away while Dimitri threw mildly confused glances in his direction. Then he sat a few rows closer. And then at the front. And then on the marble floors next to him, which were terribly uncomfortable but Byleth was a man on a mission. And on the day he brought a second plate to offer him, Dimitri wordlessly took it. 

And today? Oh, today was wonderful. 

Dimitri didn’t just sit down beside him, no. He was using a _fork_. 

...Poorly. He was very poorly using a fork. Byleth held back a chuckle after his student’s fourth violent stabbing of the fish dinner in front of him. He hadn’t actually broken the fork yet, which was an accomplishment in and of itself, for both Dimitri and the fork. Yet those immaculate table manners he had demonstrated every time the Blue Lions gathered for meals were long gone, yet Byleth was somewhat thankful for it. He was a mercenary at heart, after all, and mercenaries were fond of finger food. No longer was he under the pressure of competing with the nobility’s way of dining. If anything, Byleth now looked utterly posh in comparison. 

That being said, the two men still wordlessly tore apart their helpless fish with a mix of silverware, fingers and teeth in a way that would probably have made Lorenz or Ferdinand gag, had they been present. 

\---

Normally, Byleth would have promptly left after supper to take care of the remaining dishes, but his mealtime successes left him feeling greedy. Setting aside his plate with a gentle clank, and taking away Dimitri’s before it could be set aside with a less-gentle shatter, he unclasped the fur that had been hanging from his shoulders all day. 

Now properly cleaned and dried, the pelt Dimitri had gifted him worked wonders for Byleth while he grew reaccustomed to the cold of a mountainous Fodlan winter. He regretted his lack of sewing skills, and Dimitri’s lack of skills in… anything that didn’t have to do with skewering things, as he would have liked to fit the pelt into a proper cloak. Instead, all he had been able to manage was something akin to a shawl not unlike the fur cocooning Dimitri’s shoulders, held over his usual cloak with nothing more than a crude clasp he’d managed to pick off a suit of armor collecting dust in a monastery office. It was nothing to write home about, but it was soft, and warm, and comforting. 

And Byleth never got sick of seeing Dimitri’s eyes light up whenever he caught his professor wearing it. A small light, so very brief. But it was undeniably there.

Now it served as a cushion to be spread out on the ground, functioning well as Byleth laid down with his back to the stone, shifting so he would be able to see Dimitri’s face if he glanced over to the side. He was relaxed, but still keeping careful attention to the prince’s body language—whether or not he tensed, if he tightened his grip on his lance, when his stare would turn to a threatening glare. 

Again, the animal comparisons flooded Byleth’s mind. You would think a “lion” would be the obvious conclusion, and it was true the things Dimitri did could come across amusingly cat-like. Then there was Felix’s preferred “boar”, which seemed to be the one that stuck the best in everyone’s minds, Byleth included. He didn’t much like it when Dimitri would call himself a “rat”, which cropped up from time to time in his moments of delusional raving. Nor did he like hearing “beast”, or “monster”. At least not laced with the vitriol the prince added when he spoke of himself. 

What’s so wrong with being a beast from time to time, anyways?

...Byleth wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that thought. His head was getting a bit hazy, as post-meal fatigue began to hit him. It almost didn’t register that when he went to glance back at Dimitri, he wasn’t there. 

Or rather, he only was if Byleth turned his head a little more to the side.

Mimicking his professor, Dimitri was sprawled along the ground, turned ever so slightly on his side to face Byleth. His cape draped him in blue, the adorning fur functioning as a pseudo-pillow propping up his head. Byleth drowsily wondered how uncomfortable Dimitri’s armor must be in a position like that, and whether or not he would be able to convince the young man to change into loose, casual clothing. 

For the express purpose of comfort, of course, or to snag a chance at properly cleaning his armor, Byleth clarified in his own mind at a frantic pace. Those were the only two reasons, obviously. 

Byleth slowly shifted onto his side, wincing slightly at the pain in his back and hip from even this short stint on the stone floor. He could see Dimitri’s right hand still resting over top the shaft of the lance laying in front of him, but it was only resting. Easy to grip quickly, but not trapped in its usual white-knuckled prison. It would be an exciting day when Dimitri would finally feel safe enough to fully set his weapon down. 

“You should rest, Professor.”  
Byleth snapped his gaze from the lance to his face when Dimitri spoke up. Only one eye peaked out, transfixed on the man beside him, the rest of his face hidden beneath shaggy blonde hair. In all honesty, Byleth preferred his hair longer. It framed his face better than his prim and proper short cut ever did. “You should brush that mane of yours,” Byleth declared with an uncharacteristically sleepy mumble. “If you do, I promise not to dump more water on you.”

Dimitri frowned, not necessarily out of what Byleth had said, but how he had said it. “You are exhausted. Sleep.” A command, but a gentle one. 

“Your eyebags are worse than mine. You sleep.” 

“It is not a competition.”

Byleth huffed in response, on the verge of a pout. But even in his growingly delusional state he knew better than to argue with Dimitri on this one. Byleth had his fair share of tragedies replay themselves on the backs of his eyelids late into the night; he didn’t care to imagine how much worse it was for the young prince. 

Instead, he opted to change the subject. “You’re talking more.”

Dimitri glanced away. “Did you believe I had forgotten how?”

“No,” Byleth insisted. “I have just missed our old conversations. You always refuse my invitations to tea nowadays.” Byleth sunk further into his fur padding, some of the longer matts obscuring the thin smile on his lips. 

Dimitri just shook his head, remaining quiet. Looking past Byleth, or rather, looking at a Byleth of the past. One with teal hair and dark eyes that hadn’t yet seen how low his student could sink. 

“Do you trust me again?”

Dimitri was silent for a long while. 

“...No. Not yet.”

Byleth nodded, a part of him expected the answer. “I can wait,” he responded, mustering up the most reassuring tone his lethargic mind could manage. There was a lot of trust yet to earn. There was trust that Byleth was no longer a threat, that much was obvious. But to trust that Byleth would not disappear once again, and leave Dimitri alone with the shadows that always threatened to swallow him whole? That would take a little more time, Byleth admitted. 

Byleth would also wait until Dimitri could trust himself, too. 

As he concentrated on his thoughts, Byleth didn’t quite notice his eyelids droop and flutter closed, soft, minty-colored lashes resting against his cheeks. He thought he heard a distant voice, a gentle rumble sending him off, but the comforting darkness of sleep swallowed him up too quickly to tell. 

\---

When he woke up in his own bed the next morning, he couldn’t remember ever walking himself there.


	6. Bed, Bath and Beyond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard ya'll like fluff so here's a little bit more enjoy it while it lasts.

Byleth stared up at the rafters of his bedroom, feeling the heat still clinging to his cheeks despite the chill of the evening. 

After once mysteriously waking up in his bed, Byleth had taken to falling asleep outside of his room each night. Not exactly a challenge, considering he was perpetually exhausted be it from basic living chores or frantic research in an attempt to glean any new information that would help him stifle this war. He would usually end up falling asleep in either the library or one of the staff offices, perched in a nest of fading books that had gone unread for quite some time. And then he would wake back up in his room.

Byleth then took to sleeping in increasingly more obscure places, as an experiment. Because he was a scientist, and Hanneman could eat his heart out. Dining hall, greenhouse, Goddess Tower, it didn’t matter; Byleth would always manage to find himself tucked in bed when the sun rose the next day. 

Which meant not only was Dimitri carrying him back to his room, he had begun actively searching for him in the evenings. 

Byleth had come to this conclusion fairly quickly, but that didn’t make what just happened any less jarring. 

He had decided to raid Seteth’s office this night, hoping he had some extra materials on the Church of Seiros, the knights, even on Rhea. He knew her real identity by now, of course, as well as Seteth and Flayn’s. But names only get you so far, and he couldn’t forget that this war made up more than just the Fódlan nations. And he couldn’t forget about Those Who Slither In The Dark, either… 

Augh, it was so much to keep track of. And with such excruciatingly little time, Byleth felt guilty leaning back against the plush office chair to rest his eyes. He could already feel the grip of sleep pulling at his consciousness, enough so that when he heard heavy steps echoing in the adjacent hallway, he kept his eyes shut and his breathing steady. He wasn’t yet asleep, but as far as Dimitri could tell as he loomed curiously over his professor, the green haired man had fallen into repose.

Byleth had no idea what to do when he felt his body shift without his saying so, suddenly being uprooted from its pleasant resting spot to be carried bridal style. Revealing that he was still technically awake would more than likely startle Dimitri, as it would likely startle even Byleth, were their roles reversed. Meaning best case scenario, he would be dropped on the floor in a panic. And so to avoid any potential stupid injury, Byleth forced himself to go limp, keeping his eyes shut tight, but not too tight as to look unnatural. 

The feeling was like that of an odd rocking chair, Dimitri’s wavering gait and swaying making Byleth feel as though he had fallen asleep in a swing. Despite this, he felt secure, and couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was for the larger man to hoist him around like this. Byleth was skinny, but he had enough of a muscle mass that any normal person shouldn’t be able to lug him about like a sack of feathers. 

Dimitri shifted his grip as he walked down some flight of stairs Byleth didn’t have the guts to try and peak and see, awkwardly trying to keep his spear where it was, tucked in the crook of his arm. The shift caused Byleth to roll inwards, his cheek coming to rest on the cold black metal of Dimitri’s chestplate, some of the fur off his cape tickling Byleth’s forehead. He felt the prince tighten his grip on his thigh which—well, it made Byleth instantly cognizant of the fact that Dimitri’s hand was on his thigh. And against his back. And if Byleth shifted up just enough he’d be able to rest his head against his neck, something the man was calculating how to do for some reason when he felt Dimitri stoop and lay him on his mattress. Byleth let his head lull to the side, his bangs falling over his eyes in a way that Byleth would be able to see through, but would obscure the fact that they were open. Something that came in handy when his eyes snapped open at the sound of a lance set down with a gentle thunk of metal on wood.

He shouldn’t have opened his eyes. Oh goddess, he shouldn’t have done it.

Had his student’s broad shadow not enveloped him as easily as it did, the flush along Byleth’s face would have been clear to see. Byleth watched with his eyes half-lidded as Dimitri draped his blankets over top of him, moving with smooth purpose that had grown to be unfamiliar. And his face, it made Byleth’s heart ache for the past more than any tragedy he’d seen thus far. Gentle, loving blue eyes looked down at him, soft despite the hard features that had grown around them. The moonlight filtering in through his bedroom window lit them up, just as it lit up the obsidan of his armor and turned his hair from gold to sunlight. 

Byleth thought a flood of thoughts, of impulses that were not unfamiliar but deeply repressed. 

He fought back the urge to reach up and cup Dimitri’s cheeks in his hands, they were finally filling back out after days of shared meals. He fought the desire to grab at Dimitri’s hand, when he felt the material of his gloves brush against the back of his head, stroking Byleth’s hair just once. He fought the impulse to cling to Dimitri’s cape as he turned away, to pull him back closer, onto the bed, even. 

Byleth didn’t do these things not because he was frightened of scaring Dimitri away, but because he didn’t know what to do if the prince stayed. 

Instead, he sat motionless, listening to the sounds of a lance being picked back up, the squeak of a poorly-oiled door, and a whispered, “Good night, Professor” as the door’s lock clicked back into its place. 

_“How long have I been in love with Byleth?”_ The question bounced around in the professor’s head. He could hear it in his student’s younger voice, not yet raspy or pained, just exasperated.

He wasn’t sure if it was his thoughts or the heat of his face that kept him awake for so long that night.

\---

Dimitri felt comfortable enough touching him, now. The question was if the reverse was also true. 

This was Byleth’s justification, or purpose, or excuse as he gripped a hairbrush with more intensity than was really necessary. Besides, no one is going to want to work with a king that resembles an old mop more than a man, Byleth reasoned to himself. 

He finally found Dimitri sitting out by the fish pond, legs crossed over each other and the edge of his cape dangling off the fishing platform, dangerously close to the water. Byleth had begun running into him at random in new parts of the monastery the past couple days. He wondered if his nightly searches for Byleth’s sleeping spots had forced him into growing familiar once more with his old academy.

Dimitri’s reflection in the rippling water betrayed his activity, and Byleth made extra note of the familiar book spine in his hands; the same one Byleth had been reading the night before, before he was unwittingly foisted to bed. The professor cleared his throat to announce his presence, even if the idea of startling the grimy boar of a man into the water would have been both funny and possibly beneficial. 

Dimitri snapped the book shut in one hand, black gloves curling around the edges. Byleth had noticed the night before how the tips seem to come to a point, like claws. His head turned, gaze travelling from Byleth’s face, right to the brush in his hand. His eyes squinted in suspicion. 

“No.”

Oh come on, he hadn’t even had the chance to ask yet. 

Byleth snapped back, “How did you even know what I was going to ask?”

“Were you going to ask to brush my hair?”

Byleth groaned, resigned. “I am _begging_ you to take better care of yourself.”

Dimitri responded with an indignant huff that would have been cute if Byleth wasn’t growing increasingly peeved with him. “I have begun cleaning my armor after returning from battle, and you have not even noticed.”

He had, actually. He mentally kicked himself for not saying anything, he knew even from his academy days that this student thrived off positive reinforcement. 

“That is quite possibly the barest of minimums that you could be doing, but yes, thank you for not walking around in a centimeter coating of blood,” Byleth conceded in a voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Dimitri stood up, definitely in order to remind Byleth how much taller he was now, folding his arms across his chest and puffing himself up. His lance still rested on the wooden boards by his feet. “I do not need you lecturing me, _Professor_.”

Byleth took a step closer, causing Dimitri to instinctively take a step backwards. His cape flapped over the edge of the platform, reflecting a stunning blue in the water. “And I do not need you looking like you have rabies.” Byleth held up the brush threateningly, pointing it at the taller man’s chest. “You don’t even have to do it. Just let me fix your damn hair.”

“You do not get to touch my hair!” Dimitri spat back.

“Oh, but you get to touch mine?!” Byleth recalled the night before, the brief feeling of a hand caught in strands of green. 

In a split second, the face that had been cold as ice flared up in a bright shade of red that would have given Sylvain’s hair a run for its money, and his eyes widened in horror. He stepped back away from his approaching professor, sputtering out,

_“You were awake- AUGH-?!”_

The splash the great boar made as he tumbled backwards into the fish pond was impressive.

\---

Byleth could hear little growls coming from Dimitri as he yanked the brush through years’ worth of tangles. If anything, he was probably lucky the water may have loosened up some of them. 

Dimitri had his knees pulled to his chest, and was clinging to his lance like a security blanket. Byleth couldn’t blame him for that, at least. Within about five minutes he had gone from the comfort of protective armor, to being damp and in thin cotton garments that could have been ripped open with Dimitri’s own hands. While the pissy lion dried himself and changed, Byleth had taken the opportunity to chuck his underclothes and armor into a tub of soapy water. 

Those underclothes were _disgusting_, and he didn’t want to think about it any more. 

Dimitri had no interest in wandering about so exposed (no matter how much Byleth insisted that being fully dressed was not actually that exposing) while his proper clothes hung out on a drying line, so the young man reluctantly submitted to having his hair brushed. He didn’t protest despite Byleth clumsily ripping chunks of hair from his scalp—usually followed by a mumbled apology that was cut off by the sound of more hair being ripped through—but instead resorted to grumbling quietly to himself. 

“Thank you for carrying me back to my room every night.” 

Dimitri resisted snapping his head to the side, as that would probably end him with a bald spot at this rate. Instead he just grunted, putting a hand to the lower part of his face and trying to will away the blush threatening to form. How could he have not noticed that Byleth had been awake. What had his professor been thinking, what if-

_“Ow-!”_ Dimitri hissed, as his mane was tugged back and the sound of a band snapped into place. The usual weight of his hair wasn’t resting on his shoulders. 

Byleth flashed a smile Dimitri tragically missed, pleased with his handiwork. He had had to put up the ponytail fast, before the young man noticed what he was doing, and the result was messy. Quite a few strands still hung loose around his face and neck. The latter was probably for the better though, if only for Dimitri’s peace of mind. 

Feeling Byleth's hands retract from their grip on his hair, Dimitri promptly scrambled up, holding his lance as if he was ready to skewer Byleth if he made another move for his head. Byleth held his hands up defensively, amusement sparking in his eyes. “You look good,” he snarked.

He chose to use snark to mask the genuine complement. The prince did look very good like that. Both in regards to the hair no longer obscuring his face and eyes, and the light lounging clothes that revealed just how toned Dimitri had become in his time fighting off entire imperial guard battalions on his own. A far cry from the handsome storybook prince he used to be, there was a rugged beauty there now. 

“Professor?”

“Huh?”

Dimitri’s face scrunched up slightly, confused. “Professor, I am trying to ask you a question.”

Byleth quickly turned away, pretending like he was going up the stairs to check the laundry hanging outside the dining hall, and not because he was hiding his pink face. How long had he been staring for? 

“What is it, Dimitri?” 

Silence. Byleth glanced back to see Dimitri’s arms folded, looking away, looking as if somewhere off to his right shoulder he could find the remainder of his damaged pride.

“...Would you bring my clothes to the bath house when they have dried?”

Byleth thought he was going to cry in relief.


	7. Battle Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [CONTENT WARNING: SELF HARM]
> 
> All aboard the angst train have fun everyone

Byleth didn’t know how many screams it had taken to wake him up. He prayed to the goddess he knew wasn’t listening that it had only been one. 

It had been about six months since Byleth’s early rousteing, yet he had never found Dimitri sleeping. He did not even know where it was he chose to retire to, though he had a guess. It obviously wasn’t his room, considering that had been left in disarray and Byleth never heard footsteps coming from the nobles’ rooms above his head. As Byleth sprinted through the unforgivingly long halls of Garreg Mach, peering into every room he passed through but knowing that’s not where he would find his student, he was beginning to believe Dimitri was keeping himself confined to the cathedral at night as a punishment. It was cold and drafty, hard and unwelcoming without the sounds of gentle chatter echoing against immaculate stained glass and marble. Nowadays it was nothing more than a dilapidated chamber haunted by happy memories impossible to return to. 

Byleth couldn’t have possibly heard a scream from that far away. Perhaps he had dreamed it. It was possible, but the professor couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a warning, not a nightmare.

A clap of thunder boomed over the mountains as Byleth ran barefooted across the main bridge to the cathedral, rain soaking through the thin cotton tunic he had worn to bed just a few hours earlier. Why must it always rain in times like these? Byleth focused on that thought, because it kept his mind from racing to worse things. It is such a cliche, and an inconvenient one at that.

Byleth chose not to think about how it always seemed to rain when someone died. About the day he stood in the rain and brought a prince from lifetimes ago back to the light. But only after someone died. Someone always has to die, and it always has to rain. Even if the raindrops are teardrops instead.

Please don’t be dead. I have lost you too many times already.

Byleth muscled the massive oak doors open, stumbling into the once-holy building. Looking straight ahead, there was nothing. No hunched blue figure that he’d grown so used to seeing, and had been growing used to seeing out in the rest of the monastery. In the sun, in the light. 

Had his foot not slipped on something, or the wind died down for just a moment, he might have turned back. 

Instead, Byleth stumbled into more pools of something sticky and warm and sickly familiar. And he listened again for the sound of breathless whimpering. Was he relieved? Was that this feeling as he followed the cries into the deep corners of the room? Byleth was never good at putting names to emotions. He was never good at emotions, period. He didn’t like the way they fuzzied up his thoughts, the way they put images of a dozen spears protruding from the back of a raving beast.

But he wasn’t a beast. And he was getting better. Goddess, he was getting better, don’t take him away now. Let him live, even if it is as a beast. There’s nothing wrong with it, perhaps it is a life more honest than what a human ever lives. Just don’t cut it short, not now. Not ever. Not ever again.

Byleth had finally stumbled across the very edge of his cape when Dimitri cried out again. 

Byleth had heard a lot of screams that haunt him now. Old students in death throes, thrashing in pain as they were plucked from their horses and wyverns. The scream of childhood best friends, breaking an old promise to each other. The scream of a father too far away to take the blow for his daughter. Terrible, haunting noises that echo in one’s head for too long. Far too long. 

This was one of those screams. A scream laced with the pain of watching loved ones die, and then watching them over and over again in a sick shadow puppet play put on unknowingly by the person you fell in love with who betrayed you and watched your execution a couple times. It was the loud, guttural scream of an eviscerated animal that reverberated around the crumbling walls and compounded into something painfully unnatural. The sound alone made Byleth want to vomit, let alone the sight. 

He thought he was getting better. He had seen it. He had seen the life that had come back into his eyes. Dimitri had wanted that light to go away. In the light you can see things, and he was very, very tired of seeing the things that followed him into the dark.

Byleth crumpled next to his student in the growing puddle of blood underneath them both, frantically pulling at his arms, at the hands that clawed at his face. His right hand had already dug its fingers too deep into his eye socket, thick crimson flowing from it and the deep gashes he had left around it. It was all Byleth could do to cling to Dimitri’s arms, the prince’s strength threatening to fling the smaller man off and continue its desperate attempt to make every night stop hurting. Byleth cried out as he felt his student thrash underneath him, pleas for him to stop, reminders that he was there, anything, anything at all. When Dimitri hadn’t regressed into rasping screams, Byleth could make out slurred words, slurred begging, slurred names. 

“Mother.” “Father.” “Glenn.” “Dedue.” More names that Byleth could no longer either recognize or comprehend. 

“Go away.”

“Make it stop.”

“It hurts.”

“Go away.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It hurts.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Help me.”

“Go away.”

“Help me.”

“Go away.”

“Make them go away.”

“Make them go away, Professor.”

By the time Byleth had managed to pull Dimitri’s hands from where they were digging deep red ruts into his pale skin, he had collapsed onto his professor. He slumped up against him, trembling when his body wasn’t wracked with sobs. When Byleth wrapped his arms around him, the best the smaller man could manage, he sunk further. Byleth was warm, and he was scared. Scared and in pain and so very tired. All he had wanted was sleep. One night of peaceful sleep in this haunted monastery. 

Byleth stroked the hair that had long since been pulled from its ponytail, mumbling affirmations and promises in a shakey, cracking voice. He had thought the wetness trailing down his cheeks was from sweat, or rain. 

It always rains at times like these.

\---

His shirt hung heavy in his hand, wet from rain and sweat and blood. 

But it had been the only thing Byleth could think to press against Dimitri’s wound as he guided him to the infirmary. Dimitri had let him do so without protest, just with a pained whimper. The young prince had sat wordlessly on one of the infirmary beds, resisting the urge to stay clinging to Byleth while he scrambled about the infirmary, looking for any first-aid materials that had been left over. The blood loss had made him lightheaded, it was all he could do to stay conscious. But Byleth demanded he stay conscious. Maybe his professor feared that if he fell asleep, he wouldn’t wake up again. 

Dimitri wasn’t sure if that sounded like such a bad thing. But he knew it would make Byleth sad. 

So, he stayed awake as Byleth cleaned his face with something that made it all burn, and he stayed awake as bandages were wrapped around his head, quick to stain as the flow of blood still struggled to stop despite the healing magic Byleth used on it, and he stayed awake after Byleth told him to swallow a handful of bitter herbs that were supposed to make the pain stop, and he stayed awake until Byleth took his hand and promised him he wouldn’t leave and made him promise that he wouldn’t leave either. He promised.

Byleth watched Dimitri’s eyes droop closed, the exhaustion and blood loss finally claiming him, despite how much pain he must have still been in. He gripped the young man’s hand in an awkward way in which he could keep his thumb held over the pulse point in his wrist, just so he could know. It was an unfamiliar sensation for him, but in this moment it was the only thing that kept him from jostling Dimitri back awake. 

He was getting better. Byleth thought he was getting better. So why had this still happened, despite everything he had done?

Byleth recalled the whispers he had heard floating around the monastery long before. No one had wanted to ask, to bring up old scars, so to speak. They had all agreed Dimitri must have lost his eye to some stray attack over the five years he had been isolated. The long, thin scars that had peeked over the edge of the eyepatch had given them enough hints. 

_“Maybe it was from a demonic beast! I could imagine His Highness being strong enough to fight one alone!”_

Annette had been right, but not in the way she would have intended. 

Byleth couldn’t get the image out of his head. Dimitri, collapsing into a puddle of his own blood as the pain overwhelmed him, the only thing that saved his other eye from a similar fate. Sitting alone in the cathedral, panting as he fought back the fever brought on by an infection. Alone, still visited every night by the visions that drove him to mutilate himself. Byleth had left him alone.

Byleth felt a rush of heat come to his entire body, his vision blur in and out as his head grew light headed, his face drained of color and his stomach twisting in nauseous knots. 

He had taken to saying his heart could pound, even when he knew it couldn’t. It never had. But he had no other way to describe the way blood could rush to his ears and pound in his head, the way it was doing now. He thought he was going to pass out, or throw up. When he wasn’t thinking about that, worse thoughts raced around his head.

He hadn’t stopped this. Despite everything he’s done differently, everything he thought he was doing right, he hadn’t changed a thing. His student—his friend—was still in excruciating pain and Byleth had failed to take away that pain before he had tried to take it away himself. 

Was it fate? Byleth’s stomach twisted tighter, that question ringing in his mind over and over again. Was it all fate? Was the universe looking at his pathetic attempts to change the world and rewinding everything he did while he wasn’t looking? Would Dimitri wake up tomorrow the same man he had been six months ago, too blinded by trauma to see anything else? Byleth had failed to protect him, had let him get hurt, would the trust he’s been so desperately rebuilding topple over onto itself? Was it truly fate for his family to suffer, for the people around him to die, and he had just been forcing them all to relive it forever? What was happening, Goddess, Sothis, fucking anyone tell him what to do what was happening why everything had to hurt all the time and everything he ever did would end with people in pain—

Byleth felt something squeeze his hand. 

Byleth hadn’t noticed when his own body began to wrack with sobs, for the second time in the night. It must have been loud. Loud enough that when he looked down, a single blue eye stared back up at him, eyebrows furrowed in silent concern. Dimitri had intertwined his fingers with Byleth’s, squeezing his hand hard. It hurt, a little. But the sensation was grounding, enough to pull the man out of his attack. Byleth’s breaths began to even again, and color returned to his face. 

Dimitri didn’t know why Byleth was crying, but he didn’t like it. Byleth only cried when people died, and he wasn’t dead yet.

Byleth didn’t like it much, either.

He tried to put his impassive expression back on, the one that made everyone think that everything was fine. The one that Dimitri had once praised for showing control, poise, confidence. But he couldn’t. Not while Dimitri looked up at him like that. 

Instead, he sunk from his seat to the floor, the chill of the stone pleasant against Byleth’s still-too-hot skin. He let his shirt fall from the hand that had been grasping it like a lifeline, while keeping a weak grasp of Dimitri’s hand. He let his head fall against the edge of the mattress. He felt exhausted, and scared, and confused.

He felt another, gentler, squeeze. 

Byleth squeezed back. 

Both let themselves drift off to sleep, and they dreamed of nothing that night, and that was for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it really Dimitri without the pirate cosplay?


	8. Ice Fishing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am exactly this many days old when I learned that Dimitri doesn't lose his eye in the Edelgard route. Yeah, ya'll caught me I haven't finished my Black Eagle run yet. (Forgive me, I'm a touch busy given I am currently studying abroad in Japan and trying to figure out how to exist whilst only being able to read like 50% of any cooking instructions. Damn my lack of kanji knowledge, and lack of basic cooking skills. I need a Dedue or Ashe in my life.)
> 
> Anyways all that doesn't mean I won't try to address the plot holes that ya'll point out haha. (But in the event that I don't my answer is time travel shenanigans. Always time travel shenanigans.) 
> 
> Speaking of being busy, I've gotta be honest I don't know how long I'll be able to keep up these daily posts. I'm doing my best but there might be some skipped days. Just giving ya'll a heads up. :D Now go enjoy your content have fun make new friends.

Byleth watched the water ripple around the fishing line that pierced its surface, his mind floating from one thought to the other. Because that’s what you do when you’re wracked with anxiety about the nature of the universe. You fish. 

Byleth had woken up only a few hours after he had drifted off, tending to Dimitri even as the sun crossed the horizon and spilled gold into the infirmary. Dimitri had never stirred, and Byleth was not certain whether he was that adept at changing bandages, or if Dimitri had just been that drained. Either way, he was thankful his student was finally getting what seemed on the surface to be peaceful sleep, and he was not interested in risking disturbing him. That in mind, Byleth padded out of the infirmary with his sights set on the fish pond, taking a brief detour to his room as he was in need of proper clothing. 

Byleth mumbled out his frustrations at the carp poking at the surface and not at his bait. “He told me that time, didn’t he. That it was bandits.” Byleth shifted, his line moving with him and spooking his potential dinner. He’d grown a bad habit over the years of blocking out his first run with the Blue Lions. In his panicked state he’d forgotten the little detail he had finally managed to pry out over tea so long ago. Not like it was all that helpful now. “Lying bastard. You could have warned me this would happen...”

“...Not like you would have expected it to happen again,” Byleth amended, his shoulders drooping. 

He knew that agonizing over what-ifs wasn’t a productive way to handle the situation, and that what he should be doing is focusing on how to keep moving forward, how to keep working towards Dimitri’s social, mental and emotional recovery, and how to work towards permanent peace. But what-ifs were tantalizing for a sleepy mind, as Byleth had learned from his many conversations with Linhardt. He kept trying to mull over his past runs, pulling for answers to those what-ifs. There was so much he’d forgotten, he hadn’t even considered the runs where Dimitri had managed to avoid any self-inflicted mutilation (or errant bandit arrows, if Dimitri truly had not been lying). 

The again, it had been difficult to look His Highness in the eyes when he stood shoulder to shoulder with Edelgard. He blamed that.

Byleth shook his head, but the fog was still reluctant to clear. Again, no use dwelling on the past. And the past of the past. And past futures. And futures in the past. Time travel was confusing. Byleth was sleepy. He cursed as he missed yet another chance to reel in a fish as it took off with the earthworm that had been dangling from his hook. Byleth absentmindedly hoped no assassins were lurking in the shadows, given with his level of alertness right now even a fully armored Dedue could have snuck up on him. 

Goddess, Byleth wished he could tell Dimitri that Dedue was alive. 

Byleth pulled his fishing line back into his hands, plucking out another wriggling insect to impale upon his hook, before flinging it back into the water. He was beginning to catch himself wishing things like that now. Wishing he could tell Dimitri the truth. Maybe he hoped it would soothe some of the young man’s fears, or maybe Byleth wished to no longer shoulder this burden of knowledge alone. Either way, it was an unrealistic plan, for how could he reveal his time travel habits without it coming across as the rantings of a loon who may have hit his head floating in a river.

It was also the fear that kept his secret sealed. “Yes, my dearest student, it was my decision to make you relive the worst years of your life and experience a slow descent into madness over a half dozen times because I was just _really_ curious about things. You understand, right?” Byleth grumbled, in a tone that mocked his own characteristic flat delivery. No, Byleth would not be telling him. At least, not now. Maybe not ever. The professor wasn’t sure how long the fear would outweigh the guilt, so he left both on the scale for the time being. 

Byleth shivered, pulling his fur shawl closer around his shoulders. The rain from the night before had chilled the monastery well into the morning, the clouds above remaining a blanket of light grey. The cold breeze curling around his face elicited wonders about coming snowfall, the coming winter. The Blue Lions always seemed to perk up as the temperature dropped, eager to feel like they were back home in the frozen hellscape that Byleth had learned Faerghus to be. Even Dimitri had seemed to brighten in the past during the first snowfall, the little flakes catching on and disappearing against his pale hair and skin as he stood out in it, observing his friends’ reveries with a bemused smile. He always seemed to give that smile whenever he’d observe shenanigans his princely self couldn’t stoop to participate him, no matter how much he wished he could shed societal convention in order to do so. Byleth had always resisted the urge to shove him into the thick of spontaneous snowball fights or snow-angel-littered embankments in these moments. If only to see that put-together expression fall into something a bit more genuine. 

Byleth wished he could have shared his students’ sentiments about the winter months. But they always seemed to carry tragedy with them, even if he was the only one to know it was coming. The Ethereal Moon saw the anniversary of Dimitri’s birth, and the anniversary of Jeralt’s death. Bittersweet was an understatement. 

The splashing of yet another missed fish snapped Byleth out of his ruminating; he really needs to stop getting lost in his thoughts like this. Byleth began to pull his line once more out of the water, only to see the bait still attached. The fish hadn’t successfully taken off with it, it had been scared off by movement Byleth had yet to notice. It wasn’t until the creak of the wooden boards underneath him sounded that Byleth whipped his head around to see the source. 

He had never seen Dimitri look that small before.

The young prince stood behind him, barefoot and dressed in some kind of thin robe, something he must have fished out from an infirmary closet. Byleth noted with a kind of suppressed wonder that Dimitri had changed willingly out of his armor; when Byleth had left him this morning he had still been clad in black, stained with his own blood. He clutched the cape he still wore, poised awkwardly over his shoulders without a chestplate to clasp onto, but it only served to make him look smaller. The fur wrapping dwarfed his head and shoulders, and the sapphire fabric draped oddly over him without the added bulk of armor to rest against. He was still taller than Byleth, and he could see the taut muscles in his forearm as he clung to the warmth of his cape, but there was a new sense of fragility there as Dimitri looked down at him with his only functioning eye, as his tow-colored hair curled around the bandages cutting through it. 

Before Byleth could chastise his student for getting out of bed on his own, for walking out barefoot no less, he was cut off by Dimitri moving closer to him. Only he moved too close, an attempt to kneel down at Byleth’s back turning into an awkward collision with his shoulder, Byleth only just managing to grasp onto Dimitri’s arms before he went tumbling into the pond for the second time in recent memory. It hadn’t even been a day, Dimitri was still struggling with his altered depth perception. The small red marks on his forehead and arms, gifts from the furniture and walls he must have bumped into as he maneuvered around the already too-small infirmary seemed proof enough of that. 

Now steadied, Dimitri collapsed next to his professor, leaning his full weight into Byleth’s back and wrapping his arms so tightly around the skinny man’s stomach that Byleth lost his breath in a wheezing huff. Dimitri really had no need to keep his grip so firm, Byleth had already been frozen in place by shock, unable to do anything more than awkwardly pat his student’s hand, staring out at the still pond with blank eyes.

Dimitri was touching him. _Hugging_ him. 

Well, either that or he was gradually trying to suffocate him in a very inefficient manner. Byleth attempted to shift back a touch closer, if only to give more space between his gut and Dimitri’s bearish embrace. 

Discomfort aside, Byleth felt a lot of inexplicable things swell up in his silent heart. The relief that his fears from the night before where the Dimitri that woke up would be the Dimitri Byleth had woken up to, were unfounded. The joy that his student trusted him enough to touch him, not a distant touch, or one brought on in the throes of trauma, but one made by his own choice, if not urged on by a little bit of desperation. The guilt that his tight grip signaled a fear, probably the fear of Byleth disappearing when he wasn’t there beside Dimitri’s bed upon waking. And there was another feeling, one that Byleth chose to call comfort even though it was a strangely restless way to feel such a thing, brought on by Dimitri’s warmth, felt through the thick layers of Byleth’s cloak and top. 

The professor thought he heard something mumbled from the man behind him, but it was either muffled too much by the pelt Dimitri had buried his face into, or it had already been woefully incomprehensible to begin with. Taking a guess, Byleth responded in the most soothing voice he could muster. “I’m right here, Dimitri. I’m not leaving you. I’m sorry for frightening you.”

The grip on his waist grew tighter. Byleth sucked in a pained breath, silent enough for only him to hear.

Byleth stroked Dimitri’s hand with a hesitant thumb, continuing to mutter whatever comforts sprung to his increasingly frozen mind. Over time, the vice grip on his torso loosened, and the subtle trembling began. Of course Dimitri was cold, his cape alone was not enough to block the piercing winds that were beginning to whip up. 

Byleth unravelled himself from Dimitri, still keeping a firm hand on his, partially to keep him steady and partially as a silent promise that Byleth would not be leaving him again. Leaving the fishing rod abandoned to frost when night falls, he lead Dimitri back to the infirmary. He had honestly not expected the man to awaken so soon from such a deep slumber, but he didn’t plan to make the same mistake a second time. Byleth had just made it, propping the infirmary door open with his foot as he gave Dimitri’s hand a gentle tug and was met with resistance. 

Confused, Byleth turned to see Dimitri’s icy blue eye staring up at the sky, the light landing in a way that the shadow under it was barely visible. His golden hair fell back to waver against the breeze, and his remaining hand held out with the palm catching something Byleth couldn’t see yet. 

A snowflake landed on Byleth’s nose, causing him to scrunch it up reflexively. He watched as more fell on the man next to him. Dimitri blinked slowly as they caught in his eyelashes, collected on the fur around his shoulders, stuck like white lace embroidery to the fabric of his cape and robe. The cold air had turned his cheeks and the tips of his ears and nose a soft pink. Byleth had been too fixated to notice when Dimitri’s gaze turned to him, only truly registering the change when he felt a heavy, calloused hand ruffle the little white crystals out of his sea green hair. Byleth thought he saw the smallest of smiles cross his lips, the same color as his nose. 

Or maybe his exhaustion had constructed a happy fantasy for him. This whole moment, that’s what it was. Something out of a childish fantasy. 

Yet the hand he held in his was real and warm, just as the ice pricking at his face was cold. And should he wait around debating reality for any longer, Byleth would be in the infirmary tending to both Dimitri’s eye and frostbite on his feet. He led the prince of the north in, the building warm only because it blocked the wind. Byleth would have to rekindle the fireplace in a moment. But first, it was a matter of getting Dimitri back into bed, leading to another tug of the hand that was met with no give.

Prepared to argue with him to the end, Byleth was stopped mid-cajole by the sound of shifting fabric as Dimitri removed his cloak, and wrapped it around Byleth with a gentle flourish. Content with how it stayed on Byleth’s shoulders, the young man crawled back into the bed, pulling his bed sheets up in a way that said “I have these. I don’t need the cape right now, you do.” Or perhaps Byleth was projecting.

Either way, he had an unnecessary layer of fur now, which he promptly slipped off from under the too-big cape. “Sit up, please,” he requested, and Dimitri did so—enough that Byleth was able to wrap his fur shawl around his student. Dimitri seemed pleased, but chose to remain silent. Out of necessity, maybe, considering he had screamed himself hoarse the night before. Byleth nodded, before turning to rekindle the fireplace, careful not to tread over the fabric constantly dragging in front of his feet. He could feel Dimitri’s gaze, not accusatory or distrustful like Byleth had grown so used to. Just curious, and tired. By the time Byleth had turned back around, content with the crackling fire he’d restarted, Dimitri had fallen back asleep.

How much of all of that was the result of exhaustion, Byleth wondered. A form of conscious sleepwalking?

Byleth wondered again if he should ask himself the same question. 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he resigned himself to quit wondering and pull up a chair. The over-worker in his mind chastised him for not bringing a book that wasn’t someone else’s diary he insisted on keeping tucked in his uniform, but Byleth knew sleep would claim him before he had the chance to read anything as dry as what this monastery decided to keep around. 

So instead of strategy and war, the last thought on Byleth’s mind before he slipped away once more, swaddled in blue fabric and fur, was where he was to find his prince a proper eyepatch. 

After all, dirty gauze is unbefitting of a noble beast such as he.


	9. Shopping Sprees and DIYs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long boy incoming

Byleth still wasn’t sure if his heart beat. Was it still, or just silent? He certainly didn’t feel it when he put a hand to his chest. Either way, it felt but a moment from bursting as he strode through crowded cobblestone streets, brushing past too many strangers to count. 

Eyes down, hiding the way they seemed to glow green. Minty hair slicked back and hidden under a handkerchief like some kind of milk maid. He felt naked without the Sword of the Creator strapped to his hip, but had he brought it along he might as well have also worn a great sign with “Professor Byleth” scrawled across it. No, the meager dagger strapped to his thigh would have to do.

The entire ensemble was finished off by the tattered cloak he wore, hood put up for good measure. He had to be extra conscious of any garments he scrounged up from the monastery, careful to make sure there was nothing on it that tied him to the Church of Seiros. The church had either been disbanded or crushed, as far as the Imperial Army was concerned. Byleth wondered just how many Adrestrian soldiers he’d already passed by, the anxiety draining what little remaining color he’d had from his face. The only thing providing him any comfort was the fur he still felt safe clasping over his shoulders. He couldn’t help but wish Dimitri had been with him, but if Byleth’s presence here was dangerous, bringing the should-be-executed Prince of Faerghus with him would have been a death sentence. 

Besides, bringing him along would ruin the surprise. 

In his get up, Byleth almost looked like a vagrant. Considering how far he had travelled, he felt like one. He bemoaned the loss of the marketplace situated right at the mouth of Garreg Mach, forcing him on a journey into the very edges of Faerghus by horseback. Thank goodness for the thieves dumb enough to bring their steeds with them on attempted raids—even if the stables looked a little pathetic with a single malnourished horse, it was all Byleth needed to get out of the mountains.   
Byleth struggled to recall the geography lessons Ingrid had thrust upon him during his earliest school days, when she was utterly shocked to find his mercenary’s education on northern Fódlan territories being a bit lacking. He was fairly sure Galatea, the region Ingrid’s own family hailed from and shared their surname with, was only slightly northeast of here. Ashe was somewhere off to the west, and everyone else had sounded to be clustered up further north (why that majority insisted on going where it was even colder, Byleth had no clue). He racked his brain, but simply could not pin down his own current location. 

Not like it was anything to really write home about, of course. Byleth had seen from his marches in past lives how the villages surrounding Garreg Mach and the Adrestrian border had been ravaged, and it was frankly a miracle that Byleth had come across a bustling market as close as he did, maybe just over half a day’s ride from the monastery. 

Half a day. He certainly wouldn’t be back by sunrise, especially with any potential midnight snowfalls slowing him down further. Dimitri was bound to pitch a fit upon his return. 

The amount of cajoling it had taken to get the prince to even let him leave had been exhausting, particularly as Byleth was obscuring the real reason for his excursion. Byleth stopped to rest underneath the outcropping of a war-crumbling building, making sure to keep his back to the majority of passerby. His mind wandered to the many hours before, even though the part of his stomach that still turned desperately wished he wouldn’t. 

\---

“I want to go to a marketplace.”

“You want to go to a _what_.” Dimitri’s voice was incredulous, snapping his book shut, eye widening. He had been looking for an excuse to quit pouring over the text as the strain it put on his vision was becoming a pounding headache, but this was not his first choice for a distraction. 

Byleth shifted on his feet under Dimitri’s stare, crafting his lie. “We’re very limited in what we have here, and I think a trip to a proper shopping center could do some good.”

Dimitri set the book down on the once-polished wood of the cathedral pew, crossing his arms over his chest. Back in armor, back to looking perpetually intimidating. “Are you wanting for something, Professor?”

Byleth hesitated. “...Food?” Why did he phrase that like a question. He was supposed to be good at lying. 

“You filled the storehouse after your hunting trip just the other day.” Dimitri emphasized the “your” with an obvious bitterness. Byleth had barred him from hunting—be it prey or people—until he stopped bouncing off monastery columns and door frames and fixed the aim of his lance throws. Byleth didn’t need to risk Dimitri getting injured, or an errant lance flying through his own brain before he could even use divine pulse. Dimitri, of course, was grumpy about the proposition, as he was about a lot of Byleth’s recent coddling. _Remember to wash it out every day, no going outside when you don’t need to, stop picking at the bandages—_

Dimitri was going stir-crazy, and it was _now_ Byleth chose to go on a solo-trip to goddess knows where? 

Byleth’s voice broke Dimitri out of his mental moping. “Maybe I’m tired of eating nothing but game.”

“When have you ever cared for high-class cuisine?” Byleth cursed inwardly at the retort. Of course a man who had lost his sense of taste years ago wouldn’t be swayed by the promise of a fancy meal, and it was true that Byleth had no qualms over their current diet, even if he wished it was Dedue or Ashe doing the cooking. 

“...It would be nice to look for new clothing.”

“You’ve worn the same robes every day since I’ve known you.”

“New clothing for you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“New weapons.”

“Unnecessary.”

“First aid supplies. You used them all up.”

“I know for a fact that I did not, and stop pretending you do not know healing magic.”

“Then I-”

Dimitri interrupted, gritting his teeth in clear frustration. “Do tell me why you really want to go to a market and risk your life, Professor.”

Byleth was at his wits end, running out of things he could think to purchase that would change back a mind that had already settled on Byleth not leaving. He briefly mulled over the idea of sneaking out, but if there was any way to throw Dimitri back into a catatonic state, it was by his professor going missing. He met Dimitri’s intense gaze, determined not to back down and let this stubborn boar win. Then his gaze lowered, focusing on the book resting by the prince. 

“...Fine. I’m looking for books. Ones the monastery wouldn’t have.”

His response wasn’t as immediate as the others, Dimitri’s eyes flicking down to the object by his leg. The pause as the prince put together his words was deafening in its silence.

“...You have been researching something. Something to do with the church, and Fódlan. I can tell.”

Byleth’s breath hitched in his throat. He knew the spine of Dimitri’s book looked familiar, as had all the spines of all the books he had spent mulling over the past few weeks. They were books Dimitri had caught Byleth sleeping around. 

Byleth chose his words carefully. Now was not the time to tell him everything he truly deserved to know. Dimitri had had enough pain for the week. “...There is a war going on, Dimitri. One that I would like to stop.”

The prince’s expression darkened, the psychotic haze he would fall into during battle passing over him. “The war will end when I have that bastard woman’s head. Do not waste your time with anything else.”

Byleth hesitated. He didn’t like feeding into Dimitri’s desires for revenge. He avoided acknowledging it when Dimitri would rave at him, changing the subject as soon as the prince gave him enough time. Byleth knew it would be better to distract him from the bloodthirsty voices in his head than becoming one himself. 

But Byleth had been backed into a corner.

“Then I will find you a way to get to her faster.”

It wasn’t a lie, technically. He wanted Edelgard and Dimitri to meet long before crossing blades on Gronder Field, before the throne room where Edelgard would so kindly return the prince’s dagger to him. Even so, the implication that he was promising a sooner demise for Edelgard, at least in Dimitri’s mind, made Byleth’s stomach churn. 

But at least his bluff worked. Dimitri relaxed, a flash of surprise crossing his face. 

It had been the first time Byleth had promised him aid in his revenge, not just to protect him from himself. While Byleth was feeling a rocking sickness, Dimitri felt a flutter in his chest. His haywire mind constructed a little fantasy, built on Byleth’s single sentence. The image of his professor cutting down those Imperial rats in Enbarr, holding out his hand to guide his student to their shared prey. 

Byleth, ceasing to be his caretaker and becoming a beast, just like him. No longer alone, someone to share the burden of sin with. The thought was too wonderful to bare. 

Dimitri stood up with an unexpected energy, startling Byleth into attempting to step back, but the young man towering over him took hold of his hands before he had the chance. “Go then, Professor. I am counting on you.” The smile Dimitri wore was bigger and brighter than any Byleth had seen since his awakening, flashing teeth that for some reason seemed just a little bit too sharp in the professor’s mind. It was startling, it should have been the cause for so much mental celebration. Dimitri had smiled, he had smiled spectacularly.

Byleth felt a deep chill down his spine, and he knew the winter air was not the cause.

\---

After three hours of pacing up and down the market streets more times than Byleth could count, he was holding an immense stack of books and was no closer to accomplishing his actual purpose for coming. 

What kind of birthday gift do you give to a homicidal maniac?

Byleth bit his lip, as if he had spoken the thought aloud. Silent or no, he didn’t like to say such things about his student. Maybe it was because he felt they were cruel things to say. Maybe it was because he felt he was finally acknowledging some kind of dark truth. The exchange from earlier left him tipping far too close to the latter at the moment. 

He hadn’t known what was going through Dimitri’s mind. There’s no reason to be assuming the worst, Byleth reminded himself. If Dimitri was backsliding, he would just have to be there to catch him, keep him on a kinder path; for him, and the people around him. It was neither a time to get complacent, or fall back to despair. Byleth steeled himself, determination lighting a fire in those otherworldly eyes.

That determination lasted about three stalls before he sunk into a different kind of despair.

Useless. Boring. Too fragile. And why would anyone want _that_? 

Of all the social conventions Byleth struggled with during his time as a teacher, gift giving was shockingly not one of them. He had always had an eye for properly pairing students and items, whether it was something they’d lost or something they’d wanted. Even the freshly grown flowers he gave out from time to time were carefully chosen for each student. Most of the students assumed it was Byleth’s (supposedly) unparalleled perceptiveness, but in reality, all Byleth did was listen well. He had listened with particular enthusiasm to the passing wishes of his house leader. Always drawn to tools of war, practical and difficult to mangle. Byleth could recite a perfect wishlist, sure to include chamomile for when Dimitri was the one asking for a conversation over tea. His older self hadn’t changed much in this regard, and he had always looked just as guilty for accepting Byleth’s little bits of affections. But he always knew what to give him to make the prince smile. All he had to do was listen to that calming voice. 

The problem is that this particular Dimitri hadn’t been doing all that much talking, and he wouldn’t exactly be putting the Adrestrian Empress’s head in a gift box. 

Byleth was on the verge of admitting defeat, planning on returning with books for an uncomfortable purpose and a small bag of black leather and matching tools. He had something he needed to make when he returned to the monastery, anyways. His dejected gaze swept over the stalls of jewelry and statues and other fragile nonsense before stopping abruptly on a weapons vendor. The weapons were all of magnificent make and variety, but one in particular held his attention for far too long. 

Would he understand the gift? Would it just open old wounds? It was an awful risk, one he was probably better off not taking. Picking something a little more meaningless, a little bit safer.

Byleth opened the pouch containing church funds he had been pretty sure weren’t currently needed, making the purchase before he could turn tail and run. It was wrapped with a delicate touch and placed in a box much too elegant to be handled by two different pairs of blood-stained, scarred hands. Balancing it carefully on the top of his book pile, Byleth hurried off in the direction of his horse, ready to return before it got any later and the lion waiting at home got any antsier. 

Books blocking his vision of oncoming foot traffic, Byleth felt himself bump into a passerby, who then bumped into the pegasus they were leading through traffic, the steed’s disgruntled whiny bouncing off stall tents. “Excuse me,” Byleth said tersely, glancing back at the figure without really looking. He had better places to be. Better people to be with. 

Soft green eyes followed Byleth’s back until he disappeared into the crowd, something about that voice beating against the back of her subconscious. Something about the eye that had peaked out from under the hood, much too pale, much too bright. She adjusted the shoulder pauldron Byleth had knocked out of place, and brushed a strand of blonde hair from her face, eyebrows still furrowed. It was only the disgruntled complaints of pedestrians wanting her pegasus out of the way that kept the knight moving away from her professor. 

\---

Underneath the soft orange glow of the library’s candles, Byleth swore more than he’d ever sworn before. The number of times he had pierced his own fingers with the needle he failed to make a single proper stitch with was beginning to wear at Byleth’s resolve. Throughout all his lifetimes, Byleth had never prioritized sewing or leatherworking. He really should have taken up Mercedes’ offers for lessons, as Dimitri had.

The library door creaked open from behind Byleth. Speak of the devil. 

“Oh, good evening, Professor.” Dimitri trodded in, tracing a gloved hand along the bookshelves lining the wall until he found the correct slot for his book. Then he came closer, his eye peering over Byleth’s shoulder to see the mess of leather and tools.

“Why are you holding the needle like that?”

Byleth paused his wrestling of the leather, contemplating whether or not to shove the needle into Dimitri’s remaining eye. He’d been on edge ever since returning at the crack of dawn this morning, and the prince’s deadpan only-possibly-unintentional sass immediately rubbed him the wrong way. “Because I clearly have no idea what I’m doing, Your Highness,” Byleth huffed.

Without warning, Byleth felt pressure against his back as Dimitri bent over him, one hand plucking the needle from his grip and the other resting overtop Byleth’s. “I could never manage to sew anything myself,” Dimitri started. Byleth could feel his breath hot against his ear. It was terribly distracting. “I would break the needles after a few stitches. But Mercedes had managed to teach me the technique, at least.” Byleth hoped Dimitri hadn’t yet noticed the shade of red his ears had turned.

Dimitri put the needle back into Byleth’s hand, molding it into the proper grip. Byleth felt hot and like he wanted to shiver at the same time. His cape draped over them both, and it made him want to wear it again like he had that night. It was warm, and it smelled like its owner. The scent of musk and iron shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was. 

“Like this, Professor.” Byleth heard Dimitri’s voice, but it sounded far away. He let his student move his hand in some motion he probably should have been paying attention to, but he was too distracted by how much larger his hands were, the dark leather enveloping Byleth’s as he guided his professor through the basic skills. It was all Byleth could do to just watch, his head swimming. To the man’s relief, Dimitri seemed fine taking the lead, leatherworking tools absorbing his strength far better than a standard sewing needle. “Were you making this for my eye?” Dimitri questioned, the deep timbre of his voice laced with curiosity. 

Byleth nodded, the only thing he could manage. He felt Dimitri’s hair brush up against his own, pale gold mixing with a paler green. Dimitri’s hand gave Byleth’s a squeeze in response, before he let go and finished up without the need for puppetting his professor’s useless limbs. The end result was a functional eyepatch, if not an aesthetically pleasing one. Even though he wasn’t as useless as Byleth, Dimitri was still inexperienced, and sewing skills and leatherwork only overlap so much. 

This, however, failed to faze the prince, who took hold of the patch and tucked it up against Byleth’s palm. His palm was so sweaty all of a sudden. He hoped Dimitri hadn’t noticed. Instead, he stepped back, looking at Byleth with an expectant eye. 

Oh. Byleth realized. He wants me to put it on for him. How sweet, if only Byleth’s legs hadn’t inexplicably turned to jelly. 

Byleth was really getting sick of these temperature swings, he thought to himself as he stood up on shaky limbs, putting on an impartial mask if only to cling to some semblance of emotional control. Just a day ago Dimitri’s words and grin had let his blood run cold. Now, his face was white hot, and he wanted nothing more to rip off the layers of his uniform. Only that thought just made his cheeks flush worse. Whose uniform, again? 

It felt like an eternity as Byleth battled with his fingers to get them to tie something as simple as a bow, Dimitri patiently bending down for him. As the young man straightened, he put a light touch to his new adornment, while Byleth rolled up the bandages that had once been in its place. The corners of his mouth pulled back into a gentle smile, the smile not of a madman but of a friend touched by an act of kindness. 

Both expressions could exist in one person, Byleth knew. But for that moment he chose to believe that smile was all that Dimitri had to give. 

Dimitri, of course, was overwhelmed. Between the promises from before, to the stack of books Byleth lugged home that would surely have clues to their next steps, and now this craft Byleth had attempted and charmingly failed at? He did not care for fragile things, and hope was something more fragile than glass. But Byleth seemed to carry it with him wherever he went, and Dimitri was always inclined to follow, no matter how much the voices screamed in warning. Byleth carried hope, and happiness, and the promise of a quiet sleep where nightmares are a thing of the past. He wanted nothing more than to stay with that light forever, and make it his. 

But for now, he would settle on an embrace, careful not to squeeze too tight on the man noticeably flustered in his arms. It was cute. 

Byleth let himself be held, hands awkwardly pinned up against Dimitri’s chest because he was too shy to put them anywhere else. Only one thought managed to stay clear through the increasingly turbulent fog in Byleth’s mind, louder than the blood rushing to his head.

How long had he been in love with Dimitri?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have to give credit to Datura (on AO3) for bringing up the idea of Dimitri teaching Byleth how to sew in the comments of the last chapter. It was super cute (cuter than what I was thinking of, and also a good excuse to mess with Byleth's lil fragile emotions). Thanks for the inspiration! :D


	10. Next Time On The Bachelor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why his chapter feels so much shorter than the others, it's still 2000 words. Ah well whatever. Today was a long day, so we're breaking this scene into two chapters.
> 
> Also I just wanted to thank ya'll for the wonderful comments you've left. It makes me smile every time, and I really look forward to waking up and reading them each morning. Ya'll are sweet. <3
> 
> Anyways ya bois gonna go sleep now enjoy your dose of disaster Byleth.

Byleth was not the kind of man inclined to let himself love.

Even as a teenager he barely had a concept of it, beyond what he figured was a love for his father. But romantic love? That was just fiction better left for the bleeding hearts of the world. He never got the chance to watch his mother and father share the affection Byleth had read about in his father’s diary, when he was too wracked with sadness to appreciate it. He had rarely had much time to read, too, so when given the opportunity he chose to mull over battle strategy manuscripts rather than drown himself in boy-meets-girl stories. And any time his fellow mercenaries would bring back a one-night fling, it would be far away from his “innocent”, “youthful” eyes. 

As a result, he was woefully unequipped to deal with matters of the heart. And when one is unarmed, one does not engage the enemy. So Byleth ignored it. Buried deep like the rest of his emotions, and when they threatened to bubble up and spill out, he would push them down harder. 

This particular skill turned out to be very useful during his first year at the monastery. To say Byleth was popular amongst the students might be understating the matter. The number who’d become utterly enamored with him would have been suffocating, had Byleth not been as utterly dense as he was. Any attempt at courting him met with Byleth returning with flowers, tea parties, and more platonic affection than most students could stand before they gave up their fruitless missions. It was just as well, Byleth knew now. He may have been clueless about a lot of social norms upon his arrival at the monastery, but even he knew student/teacher relationships left a bad taste in his mouth. Frankly, he had wished teacher/teacher relationships were just as frowned upon, if only to get Manuela to stop hounding him. 

It was when the war broke out that complicated things. Suddenly, his role as professor existed only in the title his old students insisted on using to refer to him. Those kids were kids no longer, with a few having long since passed Byleth’s estimated age. Just as he would instruct Annette on riding skills, the burgeoning dark knight guided his shaky hand in magic. He was finally on the equal ground he had attempted to artificially craft within the monastery. 

And students who had long since given up on their childhood puppy love noticed. 

Byleth had fallen into his first marriage a bit by accident. After spending his entire young adulthood ignoring the pangs in his heart, he had no idea how to look for a spouse when the opportunity presented itself so suddenly. What was he to look for, anyways? What was he to prioritize? Physical attractiveness? Shared interests? Strength? Quick wittedness? A pulse? 

He had no idea how to tell apart happy butterflies in his stomach and indigestion.  
Before he had figured out what now seemed to be the obvious answer, Linhardt had asked for his hand. Answering “yes” had surprised Byleth more than it had his new fiance. 

All this not to say he didn’t love Linhardt in his first life, no. He had grown to appreciate the balance he brought to Byleth’s perpetually overloaded existence. And he was thankful for the man’s self-confidence; The professor didn’t think he would have realized his attraction to men so easily without him. Byleth had been happy enough, yes. He had built a good life with someone he had purposefully recruited to his class from the beginning. As far as everyone else amongst the Blue Lions were concerned, the scholar and the holy man made for a perfect pair. 

Almost everyone. But Byleth had seemed happy, so he had kept his mouth shut. A king had no business being a homewrecker.

Byleth had also thought he was happy. Byleth had also destroyed everything by resetting time. Byleth was and remains an idiot.

In his remaining runs, Byleth chose not to take a wife or husband. What was the point, anyways? Until he saw the end of the war, he knew there was no point to the matter. He returned to his habits of ignoring the desire of others, and his own. What had been a defense mechanism slowly warped into a perverse kind of punishment. Gods and beasts alike do not deserve love, wherever on the spectrum he happened to fall. 

\---

_So how’s that working out for you now, Byleth?_ The young man paced back and forth around his room, gesturing wildly to no one in particular. 

Ever since his mental confession, his feelings for Dimitri had been the only thing Byleth could think about. Not only did it really get in the way of his research and his basic duties as a human being who needed to eat to function, it made speaking to the prince nigh impossible. Just glancing at him for too long would force his face to heat up, and it was getting harder and harder to wear his emotional mask while his heart was falling to his sleeve. A part of him longed for the days where Dimitri remained sequestered in the back of the monastery, easily avoided. But no. Nothing could ever be easy for Byleth.

Instead, the prince had taken to following him like an excited puppy. A very large, very scary, very bloodthirsty puppy. Dimitri would find Byleth shoveling down breakfast, eager to share a meal and ask his thoughts on whatever material Byleth had been pouring over the night before. Afternoon would often bring a request to go hunting, or exterminating should there be an infestation that day, as Dimitri had taken to referring to it. Byleth had gotten used to being ordered into such missions, so being asked to slaughter thieves in the same tone as one would offer an evening at the opera was disorienting. If they were ever caught out in the cold night air, Byleth would end up swaddled in Dimitri’s cape without fail. He could never get himself to refuse it. His mind weakly justified it as not wanting to upset his student, but Byleth knew that was bullshit. He was becoming savvy to his own mental gymnastics. 

“What am I supposed to do…” Byleth bemoaned, hunched over the small oak table he set up in the center of his room, palms flat against the grainy wood. He had maybe twenty more minutes to work out lifetimes worth of repressed feelings for the future King of Faerghus before he would knock on Byleth’s door. Byleth contemplated cancelling on him, calling in sick. He was almost certain Dimitri had not noticed it was his own birthday today, perhaps Byleth could set up a new, fake birthday in a week when his brain was no longer threatening to ooze out his ears.

Byleth snapped his eyes shut, letting out an exasperated breath. One thing at a time. 

Yes. He had fallen for the Prince of Lions. He had fallen for him from the very beginning. How couldn’t he have, he was the perfect prince from the storybooks Byleth never got a chance to read. All complete with a tragic backstory and an air of mystery. Byleth, of course, had no idea he felt such things at the time. 

Dimitri did. Which made his professor’s constant invites to tea, the gifts, the praise, the rare smiles seemingly reserved just for him, all that more excruciating. Courting a teacher outright was improper, and the paranoia that he’d been misinterpreting his deadpan professor’s kindness silenced the devil on his shoulder that whispered fantasies of secret midnight rendezvous into his ear. Dimitri settled for being the favorite student, the teacher’s pet that Byleth unwittingly created. 

He listed off qualities in time with tapping a chewed-on nail to the tabletop. Chivalrous. Brilliant in combat. Strong in body and resilient in mind. Humble to a fault. Kind to his core. Damn gorgeous, Byleth admitted with slight reluctance. Even with a slightly rabid edge to him, he was infuriatingly and occasionally inexplicably attractive. Byleth had watched Dimitri grow, fall, and crawl back to the light, being by his side the entire way. He had a bond with the man he watched become king that few people could say they shared. And few people could say they hadn’t noticed the pride in Byleth’s eyes whenever he watched Dimitri at work as the reigning monarch, or the longing glances their King would throw in the Archbishop’s direction. Yet nothing ever came of it. _Why hadn’t anything came of it, Byleth. Why didn’t you say anything, Byleth. Why must you always be so utterly abysmal at speaking, Byleth. _

He pounded his fist against the table, on the verge of collapsing onto it in defeat. His head was swimming again, mixing up every Dimitri he had come across in his memories. Unfortunately for him, Byleth’s current prince was rapping at his chamber door. 

Byleth scrambled upwards, nearly toppling the teapot he’d set aside as he attempted to fix his frazzled hair and appear at least somewhat put together. His room, at the very least, already looked the part. Loose papers and battle plans neatly stacked together and situated at the corner of his desk, books placed spine out in his bookshelves instead of lying pages-up on the floor. A stack of dirty dinner plates had been removed, and a recovered vase took its place, boasting fresh clusters of Baby’s Breath and Lavender that had begun blooming spectacularly as Byleth slowly revived the greenhouse. His bed had been made so neatly you would think he’d never slept there, and a cute table adorned with a flowery teapot and two matching cups took its place in the center of the room. Byleth had forgone adding cookies, as Dimitri never seemed to have much of an appetite for such things, and Byleth didn’t actually know how to bake in the first place. He had also forgone hosting tea outside; The bitter wind and snowdrifts quickly overtaking the monastery may not have bothered the man of Faerghus, but it certainly bothered the man of temperate deciduous forests. 

Byleth sucked in his breath, willing his voice to come out even. “Come in.” 

The door creaked open, and Dimitri padded in, hunching to avoid smacking his forehead against the top of the door frame. The ends of his cape dragged in a smattering of snow that met its demise rather quickly in the warm room. 

Byleth noted how small the room suddenly felt, either from the added table or the massive bundle of armor and fur watching him expectantly. “Afternoon, Professor.” Dimitri’s eye swept over the simple set-up, a kind of recognition passing over it. The prince hadn’t accepted an invitation to tea since he last wore the uniform of the Officer’s Academy. “...Does all of this bring back memories for you as well?”

“Uh-huh?”

Dimitri blinked at the bright eyes staring back at him. “...Professor?” The poor man looked completely dumbfounded. Perhaps it was a side effect of exhaustion, or surprise that he had finally conceded to meet for otherwise tasteless hot leaf water. 

Byleth watched Dimitri take a seat, something he guessed he had offered at some point as he dropped into his own. His student had just returned from the bath house, if the subtle scent of pine soap was any indication. His hair hadn’t yet fully dried, falling straighter than usual, pressing up against his neck and jaw. He propped his elbows on the table, folding his hands together and using them to prop up his chin, eyes just slightly drooped over a gaze that felt like it pierced directly through Byleth’s head, digging out every embarrassing half-thought that floated about. Like how soft his skin looked after a little bit of care, and whether or not Dimitri looked cute with cheeks as flushed as Byleth’s were becoming, to his utter dismay.

This would be a long afternoon.


	11. Nice Tea Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the rest of the scene. I am so sleepy. I may combine the two chapters later we'll see.

Byleth brought the tea cup to his lips, sipping at the increasingly lukewarm chamomile, having long since come to terms with his perpetually pink face. He would just fake a fever or something tomorrow. Maybe force a couple convincing coughs as Dimitri left. Yes, surely that would work. 

Cradling the cup in his hands as he brought it away from his mouth, Byleth continued his conversation. “As brilliant as your ideas were, Dimitri, I must admit I found your writing style to be one of the most infuriatingly haughty things I had ever read in my life.”

“You found my essays _haughty?_” Dimitri scoffed, a bemused look in his eyes. The prince had no nostalgia for the past with such important things to be taken care of in the present. There were certain old topics he was wholly uninterested in speaking of, which Byleth deftly avoided the moment he saw Dimitri’s jaw clench. But hearing his professor’s opinion of his younger self was enticing enough to keep him engaged.

Byleth was just happy to keep the exchange moving so his mind and eyes didn’t have time to wander. The prince may be speaking to him properly now, but he was no longer the conversationalist he once was. “I had to keep a dictionary on my desk at all times, thanks to you,” Byleth continued. “I do not know how effective battle plans that require a noble-interpreter present would really be. But, the logic behind them were always sound so you got off without marks.” He took another sip of tea, omitting the detail that he didn’t like to watch his favorite student’s face fall whenever he received poor scores. 

“I suppose you should be thankful I grew to appreciate a simpler approach to tactics.”

Charge, scream and skewer? It certainly didn’t take long to write out, Byleth could concede that.

“I think you could benefit from a little more complexity from time to time.” Byleth spoke with his characteristically monotone voice, but he put forward the statement with hesitation; He generally avoided critiquing Dimitri’s decisions on the battlefield nowadays, and he had always assumed the prince had no interest in Byleth deciding what poor soul would take his lance to the gut.

Much to Byleth’s relief, Dimitri did not react poorly. A gloved finger slowly traced the rim of his tea cup as his eye was cast down in thought. “...Then why do you stay silent on the battlefield now?”

Byleth picked his words carefully. “I didn’t want to… restrict you. And I assumed a grown man had no interest in following the marching orders of his old instructor.” While he knew the latter would come to be untrue as Dimitri came to his senses, it was something he did genuinely believe at this moment. 

“You think of your commands as a chain?” The boar prince spoke with civility, but Byleth could see the flickers of something more feral when their eyes met. It was a conflicting image, an uncomfortable in-between where Dimitri was self-aware enough now to speak on his atrocities, but not with regret. When it was not with resigned, matter-of-fact tone, it was with amusement. How funny it was that the chivalrous prince of lions rotted away for so long in his haunted den. “If you think I find your tactics to be a leash, then you should know that I am not averse to being lead around by you, Professor. Not anymore.” 

Dimitri had a way of challenging Byleth’s poker face that was unparalleled. Damn him. Byleth coughed into his fist, praying his voice would remain even and not crack like the flustered school boy he felt himself devolving into. “...I see.” He looked up at his student, watching him with a thin smile on his lips. Was he enjoying this, watching Byleth’s mask crack slowly but surely? “I look forward to the honor of leading you once again.”

Dimitri leaned back, bringing his own teacup to his lips. It looked out of place, the clean white porcelain stark against the black of his ensemble, the motif of flowers too delicate to be held in hands like his, ones that could crush the fragile cup in his palms. “Always so impartial, Professor. Perhaps that was the thing I found most infuriating about you.” 

Byleth’s fingers fidgeted with the tea cup handle, unable to pull his eyes away from the man across from him. “How so?” 

“I could never figure out how you managed it,” Dimitri elaborated. “And I found it unfair. Why could you control with such ease what was ripping me apart from inside.” 

Byleth’s heart ached when he heard the bitterness wrapped in those last words. “You would be surprised how much emotion I still do not have a handle on. 

“Not anymore, no.” Dimitri set his cup down and leaned forward, his weight from the arms resting on it tipping the table ever so slightly to his side. His hair shifted as his head lowered to be on perfect eye level with his professor, blonde strands falling and casting that piercing azure eye into shadow. His smile stretched back further, a canine poking out over his bottom lip. “You have been struggling to subdue that blush since I arrived. I’ve seen your eyes wander more and more these days, and look away in confusion just as much. And I recall how much those eyes lit up any time you saw something you wanted from me. I suppose what you believed to be an improvement. I began to half-expect you to praise me like the student I once was.”

When Byleth failed to form the words to respond, Dimitri continued. “Did you think I was too absorbed in my own delusions to notice from time to time, dear Professor?”

Ah. So that is the difference between butterflies and indigestion. The fluttering of his heart, or his blood, or his soul attempting to make a break from its foolish mortal prison. Whatever it was, Byleth was desperate for it to stop. It was foreign. Unfamiliar. Scary, just like the young man across from him. Byleth had no clue how to respond, no witty joke to respond with, no gentle chiding or constructive comment. He was frozen in place despite the feeling of burning skin radiating through his entire being. Had he invited the prince to his chambers just to have his psyche picked apart and shattered?

“...Happy Birthday.”

The words had tumbled out of Byleth’s mouth, a subconscious effort to change the subject, end the exchange, anything he could accomplish. His Dimitri from before, the Dimitris in the past, they had never been this perceptive. Not at this point in the game. That’s what this all was, wasn’t it? A game, and one Byleth continued to lose in ways he did not even know were possible.

But perhaps he hadn’t lost yet. Dimitri’s calm, quietly intimidating aura broke momentarily as his eye widened. His birthday? Today was his birthday, was it? He didn’t think Byleth was lying, the weather was much the same as it always was on this day. Was that why this invitation to tea had been tossed out so suddenly, with such hope that he would attend despite months of a wide variety of rejections?

“...My thanks?” Dimitri blinked. Quick on his feet, yet he had never been as quick to recover in a mental sphere as his mentor. 

Using Dimitri’s moment of pause to his advantage, Byleth rose from his seat, relishing the moment when his back was turned and he did not have to meet Dimitri’s face. From between a particularly dense stack of books on the shelf, he retrieved the thin box he had purchased from the marketplace before. Taking a momentary breath, he turned back to the prince and slid the box forward on the table. Orange light filtering in from the window enveloped the elegant blue and gold case, causing the gold edging to shimmer. Dimitri stared at it like it was going to speak in a moment. 

“I am aware you… Do not often think yourself worthy of kindness, or gifts. So consider this an act of tradition, if you must. But it feels wrong to not properly celebrate it after so many years of being apart.” He thanked his sleepy goddess that his voice stayed strong the whole time, while his hand instinctively wandered to an inner pocket of his cloak. He still had the broach Dimitri and the Blue Lions had gifted him on his own birthday, permanently fixed like a good luck charm to be carried to battle. “You’re welcome to open it, if you’re comfortable.”

After spending a few more moments sharing a staring contest with the box, Dimitri lifted the lid. And he lifted the silk wrappings underneath it, his pale face unreadable. Byleth wondered about a lot of things at this moment, and he also wondered how long it would be before those dark circles latching to Dimitri’s eyes would stay. Even if it meant more unbearable teasing, Byleth wished his prince wouldn’t look so tired.

His prince?

The sound of a breath sucked through teeth snapped Byleth’s attention back to the present. His eye was obscured, his mouth tense, lips curled into neither snarl nor smile. He reached a gloved hand into the box, and produced the contents, fingers curling around it, the sharp tips clawing against the ornate metal.

The dagger fit perfectly in Dimitri’s hand. 

Intricate engraving curled down the silver blade, a sharp pattern reminiscent of the Blaiddyd crest. The hilt bore motifs of some kind of mythic beast, the crevices between carved symbols stained royal blue. The blade was a relic of Faerghus weaponsmithing that was growing increasingly stamped out by Adrestia's subjugation. 

Dimitri turned it around in his hands, feeling the weight of the blade. Hearing the voices in his head, ones from old memories and not vengeful spirits. Mocking laughter that bubbled up from affection and friendship fostered over years and years. A bittersweet, confusing mess of guilt and fondness and regret and innocence of the world. 

_What kind of person gives their crush a dagger, anyways?_

Byleth watched, hands tensed, holding his elbows while his arms were folded against his chest. He watched as Dimitri brought the engraved blade to his lips, pausing for a moment while the heat of his breath fogged the cold steel. He watched as Dimitri slowly lowered it again, tucking it back within its box. He watched as Dimitri rose, imposing, cape sweeping across the floor in an arc of blue until he came to rest directly in front of Byleth. He watched the man stare down at him, an unreadable look on his face, within his icy eyes. He watched as Dimitri lifted his hand, resting it at the very top of Byleth’s neck, his fingers tangling in the seafoam locks before gripping them like a vice, yanking his head back before Byleth had the chance to shiver under his touch.

Byleth’s eyes fogged over when Dimitri kissed him. 

Hard and unpracticed and desperate, and headspinningly warm. Byleth felt his knees buckle, but Dimitri’s firm grip on his hair kept him there, his other hand digging claws into Byleth’s arm. And just as Byleth started to lean in, to prop himself up against Dimitri’s chest and allow his cloak to fall past his arms like a velvet cocoon, Dimitri pulled away. 

Byleth didn’t remember what it looked like when Dimitri left, what really happened. By the time his eyes had unfogged, he found himself collapsed on the floor, the sound of a wooden door slamming shut, a deafening rattle in a room otherwise silent save for frantic, shallow breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I typed fucking Amestris instead of Adrestia. I can't believe Edelgard is working with the Homunculi.


	12. Fuzzy Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the odd publishing time ya'll. I felt pretty ill last night and couldn't quite finish the update. But here you go!

Byleth leaned up against the brittle, frozen bark, careful to not let anything snap and reveal his presence. His hand rested on the cold metal of his sword hilt, and the chill wetness of the snow around him seeped into his skin despite the layers of fabric and armor. The weather was unforgiving.

So why. Was he still. So. Damn. _Hot_.

He knew why. Of course he knew why. But the extent of it was worrying. Any time his mind had but a second to itself, it would wander to that moment, and his body would resume its slow bake. His chest would resume its impossible palpitations. He needed a distraction, and he needed to be very, very far from Dimitri.

Byleth looked out over the small battalion from his hiding spot, soldiers clad with the crests of Adrestria emblazoned on their armor milling about as they prepared to move further up to the monastery. It had been quite some time since the last investigative crew was sent up, but with old bodies buried under snow drifts it was possible they were checking to see if the mysterious Garreg Mach Monster was gone. Good, Byleth thought. They would make a good distraction. 

In a moment Byleth dashed out from his cover, unsheathing the Sword of the Creator and extending it towards the nearest soldier all in one smooth motion. The snake-like blade embedded itself in the soft gap between armor pieces on the poor man’s side, before being retracted with a fresh coating of blood. Before the first man even collapsed, Byleth was already wheeling towards another soldier, charging him with an axe. The sound of metal on metal rang out as Byleth blocked the attack, intermixing with confused shouts and barked orders. Shifting his blade and knocking his attacker off balance, Byleth thrust the tip of his sword into the woman’s neck. In a past life, that soldier could have been in a battalion under Byleth’s command. He didn’t like to think about that. 

Instead, he continued the one-man defense of his home, the only real home he had ever come to know. His blade whipped around in deadly arcs as he spun to meet each new attacker, his black cloak flaring out behind him like a fan, caught in the dance of a mercenary. Not of a professor. It was freeing in a twisted kind of way. There was something natural to the way his body moved with a blade in his hand, a sense of animalistic satisfaction when he felt the slight resistance of flesh. He was not happy to take life, but Byleth couldn’t deny it was a familiar constant in his lives. His mind knew exactly what to do, where to snap his attention. To the swordsman on his left, to the mage behind him, her robes no protection from his divine relic. His face hardened the way it was supposed to, no cracks in the blank mask. His body felt like fire, but it was the heat of exertion, of adrenaline, not of nerves. It was all so natural, so normal. 

Byleth happily let himself become the demon his old nickname alluded to, nothing more than an inhuman blur of black and luminescent green.

He let his sword wrap around the shaft of a lance coming for his gut, ripping the weapon out of the hands of its wielder. Too easy, too refined. These soldiers, every time, always too concerned about maintaining some semblance of pride with their impromptu executions. Byleth quickly wiped off the spatter of blood that threatened to obscure his vision. The battlefield was no place for men.

It was the home for demons and beasts, and Byleth was missing his. 

All it took was the one mental hiccup to throw Byleth’s mind from the mountainside to his quarters once again, obscuring the vision of a swordsman sending their blade into his stomach. The pain was searing, disorienting. Acting more on instinct than logic, Byleth unsheathed the dagger strapped to his thigh and jammed it into his attacker’s windpipe, forcing them off of him as they stumbled back, clutching their throat as it oozed red. 

It hurts. It hurts a lot. Divine Pulse? How do I Divine Pulse again?

Byleth’s mind felt fuzzy once more, thoughts melting into one another and leaving a thick sludge that made his limbs feel heavy as he attempted to traverse it. He needed to use Divine Pulse, but it required some amount of concentration to activate, concentration that was currently slipping through his fingers. Had it been a mistake to come out here, after spending another sleepless night fretting over his heart? And that, that needed to vacate his mental space immediately. But it won’t. It won’t go away at all. And the more Byleth struggled to clear his mind the more thoughts tumbled in, pulling his attention every which way and not towards the axe swung back and coming to take his jumbled head from his shoulders.

The sound of a guttural scream pierced through the haze, reverberating in his ears as Byleth began to collapse into the snow. The sound of a lance whistling through the air came from above him, as did the wet thunk of it embedding itself in the head of the solider, the corpse now threatening to collapse on top of him. Byleth watched as the snow under them both stained red, just as his gloves did as they pressed to the wound in his stomach. Divine Pulse, Divine Pulse, you need to use Divine Pulse. But why? He finally felt so pleasantly cold.

Shouting, screaming, noises that sounded strangely distant echoed around him. He looked up at the scene acting out in front of him, edged by black shadows threatening to take over Byleth’s vision. He watched the dark figure impale soldiers now only trying to flee, leaving his lance stuck in corpses as he grabbed armored heads and crushed them in a spray of crimson. Swathes of blue obscured the massacre from time to time, but he could still hear the increasingly muffled screams. Screams of terror, and the bellow of an enraged beast looming over his prey with bloody fur and claws and teeth. 

And then it was quiet. Good, Byleth thought. It is difficult to sleep when people are being so noisy. It was growing so pleasantly dark, too. And cool. Cold even. No more confusing heat. Was there something he was meant to do? 

Hm, the sounds have come back. Odd sounds. Not screaming. Whimpering. Whining. Byleth felt his body shift, and a groan escaped his lips without his say so. He could hear more things. A low rumble. Was the beast speaking words? Byleth couldn’t tell. He could tell when he was lifted out of the snow, though. Put me back, I don’t want to go back to the heat. He could feel the fire lick at his body again, at his cheeks and neck and forehead. He wanted to shiver and sweat at the same time. A fever? Oh. Perhaps it was a fever this whole time. That would explain the way his head swam. The way his head drowned. Too many thoughts. Divine Pulse, that’s what it was. He needed to use it. Go back and dodge the sword. Go back and not think about Dimitri again.

He didn’t want to go back. He felt safe now, strong arms wrapped so tightly around him. No need to go back. Just to sleep. Just a little nap, and then he would get back to work. 

Goodnight, Dimitri. 

\---

Byleth’s legs felt heavy. Literally. They felt like there was a weight on them. 

The man’s eyes didn’t want to open, sleep sand crusting over the edges. Byleth weighed the pros and cons of going back to sleep, but he did really want to know why his body felt so odd. And where he was. The surface beneath him felt plush. Had Dimitri carried him back to his bed again? Where had he fallen asleep this time, Byleth couldn’t remember.

He forced his eyes open, pupils dilating as he reacted to the light. Too bright. The rafters above Byleth weren’t his. Where was he? His eyes slowly panned over, seeing shelves in his peripheral vision stacked with odd bobbles and canisters. The infirmary? Byleth shifted, trying to sit up and only managing to force himself into a pained cry. The weight on his legs shifted. Byleth’s stomach felt as though it was going to tear apart. Perhaps it was on the verge of doing so. But at least he could finally remember. He had fallen asleep on the battlefield. What a lousy place to take a nap. 

Byleth sucked in a breath and attempted to sit up again, slower this time. His head hurt more than his gut did. After a couple moments of struggle and wincing, he managed to prop himself up enough to see the rest of the infirmary room.

Byleth wasn’t so surprised when he found the weight on him to be Dimitri, his top half sprawled over his legs, while the rest of him struggled to stay in a chair pulled up to the bedside. One hand had a firm grip on Byleth’s shin while his face, peacefully asleep, was nuzzled up against the blankets on his knee. The young man looked even more exhausted and ragged than usual. How many days had he been caring for his fallen professor? How many days had he been sleeping, Byleth wondered.

His student had never been one to be well versed in faith and reason, but from the look of the dozens of books all scattered around the floor, he must have attempted a crash course. Whatever sloppy mix of first aid and healing magic Dimitri had managed to perform had kept Byleth alive, though. He clearly hadn’t noticed the fever that had begun to wrack Byleth’s body, though. The professor groaned again, rubbing his cheeks. Yes, that really did explain all the heat. Byleth wasn’t sure if he was relieved to know his school boy crush wasn’t single handedly destroying his body, or if he felt like a fool for not noticing he was coming down with some common winter ailment. And then he went off into battle. Brilliant. Byleth was truly an unmatched tactical mind of this generation. 

Byleth’s eyes fell back over Dimitri’s hunched, sleeping form again. How frightened he must have been. He didn’t want to imagine the panic that must have wracked his student’s mind, the dread of losing Byleth yet again. He imagined it was something like the feeling Byleth got every time he was forced to stare down the Faerghus prince on the wrong side of the battlefield. Guilt seeped into Byleth’s mind. The last thing he wanted was to bring more suffering to Dimitri than he already had. 

Byleth reached out slowly, brushing his sickly pale hands over Dimitri’s hair. It was so deceptively soft. Much like Dimitri himself, Byleth figured. Unkempt and dull from afar, but soft once you’re able to get a little bit closer. He let his fingers tangle in the blonde strands, slowly working out the kinks that had formed in what were likely days of Byleth sleeping. Byleth could feel Dimitri unconsciously curl closer around his legs from the petting, and he hoped the sensation brought him peaceful sleep. Byleth could feel the heat from his body, and it was far more pleasant than what the fever was doing to the rest of him. He supposed he didn’t mind warmth if it was like this. The same kind of warmth he’d get when the prince would wrap him in his cape, or sit beside him by the library fireplace. Despite all the problems the young man brought with him, Dimitri was inextricably linked to protection in Byleth’s mind. He felt safe. 

Byleth’s hands unconsciously played with the ends of Dimitri’s hair, his fingers occasionally brushing up against the nape of his neck, the one area his armor failed to cover. His eyes looked over the figure, following the arm that wasn’t currently clinging to his leg. His cape draped over most of it, hiding it from view. But his hand was visible on the corner edge of the mattress, as was the object loosely grasped within it. Dimitri was unarmed in the infirmary, save for the dagger Byleth had gifted him. Byleth couldn’t decide if he had brought the dagger as protection, something to defend him and his recovering professor with, or if he had brought it with him for comfort. A different kind of protection. Either way, Byleth was happy to see the gift in his possession. 

Byleth sighed inwardly, mumbling out in the raspy voice of someone who’d failed to speak for some time. His hand still rested on Dimitri, lowering enough that the back of his index finger could stroke against his upper cheek. 

“I do believe I have been in love with you much longer than you have been in love with me…” Byleth reluctantly pulled his hand away and laid back down, lethargy already clawing at him once more. “What am I to do with you now, though. What do I do with myself.” It was an odd feeling, admitting it all out loud. Admitting it in a time where there was no reason to keep it secret, keep it repressed. They were no longer truly student and teacher, and they were not yet archbishop and king. They were just a demon and a beast trying to survive together in their own little world. The thought felt almost as freeing as battle did. 

Byleth decided he would ask Dimitri if he felt the same after he took one more little nap.


	13. An Exercise In Bedside Manners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya boi lost their voice today. Man, I just got over being sick. >:T
> 
> Anyways, tryin' to get back to my normal upload times. And thank you for all your responses to my last question!

“Could you raise your arm, Professor?”

“Could you please stop scrubbing the skin off my body?”

Byleth’s chiding was met with a more impassioned scouring of his back that was being increasingly rubbed raw. Monotone sarcasm was all Byleth seemed to have left at this moment, as he sat hunched and bright red from the tips of his ears down to his bare chest. He was beginning to become resigned to this flushed fate. 

Byleth had been ordered to remain in bed until his wound fully healed. Dimitri had even used his “I Would Be A King If I Wasn’t Currently Being Feral” voice. As such, that meant no changing his own bandages, no showers, no nothing other than sitting in bed and staring at the wall if he didn’t have a book to read at the moment. Staring at the wall and waiting for Dimitri to come and visit. 

After the first couple days spent in and out of consciousness, during which Dimitri remained fixed by Byleth’s bedside at all times, the prince had started returning to his usual routines, as well as tending to Byleth’s as best he could. That meant Byleth could look forward to Dimitri coming back to show a new flower budding in the greenhouse (stop picking them, you brute), or reporting about a couple rounds of fishing (if you break my one good rod I’m going to break your neck), when he wasn’t arriving to tend to Byleth himself. 

Byleth could concede Dimitri was doing his best with the caretaking, but he couldn’t help miss Mercedes whenever Dimitri wrapped clean bandages too tight, or fumbled about with a poorly mashed slurry of pain-killing herbs. He was fully barred from attempting any further healing magic after he nearly managed to cast Nosferatu instead of Heal. Instead, the student settled for helping keep his professor clean and kempt whilst Byleth managed his own magic. 

Whether or not that was a still a good set up, Byleth had yet to decide. For a man who’d refused to let even his hair be brushed for several months, Dimitri seemed to have no qualms manhandling his professor for the sake of cleanliness.

“No-! No. No no no.” Byleth grabbed back behind himself frantically, pulling Dimitri’s arm up before it could go any lower down his back. He hissed in pain as the sharp movement pulled at his wound. Even if it was just a soapy wet rag making contact with his skin, Byleth’s poor heart couldn’t handle anything more than a scrubbing of what he couldn’t reach on his own.

Dimitri pulled away without protest. “Apologies, I was not paying attention.” The prince was glad he was situated out of Byleth’s line of sight, allowing him to crack any amused smiles he so wished. It was perversely fun to watch his role as a flustered disaster flip with Byleth ever since the end of their academy days. He had no interest in making Byleth uncomfortable, certainly. But he couldn’t deny this new sense of control was as exhilarating as it was to watch his old mentor’s vacant mask crumble with the littlest of actions. 

Dimitri handed the washrag off to Byleth, who took to cleaning his front, patting carefully around the gash in his stomach. Putting aside the issues of Byleth’s newfound anxiety over physical contact, he would need a lighter touch now than what Dimitri could manage anyways. The thought made the young man’s heart hurt, so he was better off not thinking about it at all. Instead, Dimitri plucked a hairbrush from the bedside table, setting to work on the seafoam mop in front of him. 

Finishing with a quick scrub of legs slowly growing numb from lack of use, Byleth set the washrag aside and worked on keeping his head still while the brush slowly worked through his hair. Aside from the occasional battle with knots, Dimitri was surprisingly gentle at this part. He figured the motion was just an ingrained muscle memory, if Dimitri’s old immaculate, if not considerably unflattering and occasionally string-cheese-like hairstyle was any indication. This was the one part of Byleth’s teamwork grooming sessions that he didn’t hate; even if it was the one part that made the butterflies bounce around in his slightly scrambled stomach the most. It was all the gentle touches. The rhythm of the brush moving from crown to nape, the sensation of Dimitri’s fingers—gloves having long since been removed—combing through the mess of green and occasionally brushing against skin, the breath on the back of his neck when Dimitri leaned a little bit too close—

“So what are you planning on making for dinner?” Byleth sputtered out, wanting nothing more than to stop his train of thought before the butterflies burst out of his injury. It was an odd choice of question, considering the few meals Dimitri had managed to prepare this week were usually unseasoned, slightly burned slabs of meat. Maybe this would be a good chance to suggest the use of pepper or garlic from time to time. Just because the prince can’t taste anything doesn’t mean he should be subjected to the same torture. 

He heard Dimitri let out a breathy chuckle behind him. His laughs sounded so off nowadays. His younger self had always had a penchant for holding back any childish giggles, but now it seems as though he’d simply forgotten how to laugh in the first place. 

“Always thinking about food, Professor.” You and Ingrid both, Byleth could imagine his old Dimitri adding. But he didn’t talk about them now.

“I was just curious. I thought perhaps I could provide some suggestions.”

“Does my cooking not meet your standards?”

Well you’re no Dedue, Byleth thought. But he could imagine saying that aloud would only end him with a fistful of hair ripped out. Byleth knew he was alive. Dimitri didn’t. When do I tell him. “You wouldn’t have needed to tell me you can’t taste food, I will leave it at that.” 

The comment earned him a—thankfully—soft smack of the brush against his head. “You should learn to appreciate the texture of it, then.”

“Yes, the texture of an old shoe.” 

“If you continue, that is what will be on your plate this evening.”

Byleth couldn’t help but break into a thin smile, taking a moment to glance back at the man behind him. Even despite the tiptoeing he had to do, Byleth had so missed bantering with his student like this. The feeling must have been shared, based on the glint in Dimitri’s eye, and the way his lips were pulled back into the smallest of smiles. It was all Byleth wanted to get Dimitri to smile without abandon again. He vaguely recalled the young prince having sharper than average canines during the few instances he grinned large enough to show teeth; perhaps that is why his damn shoe-meat cuisine failed to bother him so. 

Dimitri ran his fingers through Byleth’s hair one last time, satisfied with his job. Setting aside the brush, he slid off the bed and began walking over to the infirmary shelf that housed fresh bandages. “I hope this will be the last day you will need these.” 

Considering how flushed and stammery Byleth got every time Dimitri had to wrap them around his torso, he agreed. He held still, arms already held out slightly as was routine, as Dimitri sat back down on the bed and began unfurling the white fabric. Byleth allowed himself to watch, focusing on little things. The calluses on his hands, the scars along his neck and jaw, the tiny flecks of gold surrounding the pupil of his blue eyes. Byleth had fallen for a strikingly handsome man, he had to admit. Even in his most untamed moments on the battlefield, Byleth couldn’t deny he found the prince attractive. Once again, such odd things for him to admit freely.

Oh, he had something he wanted to ask, didn’t he?

“Do you like being together?” It was all Byleth could do not to slap his own face. He had always had his moments of speaking before his brain had a chance to catch up, and it always ended with someone getting pissed off at him.

Dimitri looked up from the bandages, his eyebrows furrowed just slightly, as if he couldn’t quite parse out what Byleth was trying to ask. “Come again?” 

“I mean…” Byleth struggled to pull together a coherent question. “I just wanted to know your… Your thoughts on… All of this?”

“All of this?”

“You know.” Byleth attempted to gesture between the two of them, getting exasperated. “This.” You would think after enough lifetimes he would have finally mastered his weaknesses over words.

“I’m afraid I do not follow, Professor.” Dimitri bit back a smirk that says he absolutely does follow, and was just enjoying watching Byleth struggle. 

Byleth let out an exhausted groan, raising his arms more so Dimitri could begin wrapping the bandages around him. “I—”

“You still have my journal, yes? I saw it when I had to remove your cloak the day you were injured.”

Byleth blinked, thrown off from where he was already mentally off-kilter. “...I do, yes.”

“Then you know of all the thoughts that were in my mind for the year you were instructing me. But do you recall at all how I acted around you?”

Byleth frowned a little, thinking back. It was not often Dimitri encouraged talk of the past, which caught him further by surprise, but that didn’t stop the memories from flooding back. “Polite, mostly. You were always very polite. Did everything I requested of you, and then some. You were stiff, holding back on things. Yet…”

“Yet?” Dimitri watched him, his face much too close after leaning in to reach the bandages around his back. 

Byleth continued, unsure. “You would say things. Very sweet things, about me. How strong or brave or skilled I was. You would get so excited when I smiled. And…” Byleth couldn’t help the fondness that creeped into his voice. “And then you would get embarrassed about it. You would blush, and stammer. Scramble to come up with an explanation for me. Yet even after your explanations I would still see the way you lit up when invited for tea or the way you’d turn red when I got too close to you during a spar.” Byleth ran a hand through his hair, his wistful expression dropping into one of self-frustration. “...And I always attributed that to other things.”

“Not because you were oblivious.” Dimitri stated as if it was a clear fact. “But because you didn’t want to admit you had paid enough attention to notice.” 

Byleth didn’t like how perceptive this Dimitri was. Why couldn’t he just go back to staring at rubble.

He had finished with the bandages, yet this beast continued to stare Byleth down just inches from his face. Any closer and Byleth would probably feel the ends of Dimitri’s hair brush against his cheeks. He could certainly already feel the heat radiating off the opposing man, even despite the armor that should have been trapping it in. Byleth resisted the urge to shrink back, putting all of his effort to save face and not crumble under all the emotions threatening to spill out, a task proving harder than any battle he’s faced yet. He was still struggling to respond when Dimitri beat him to it. 

“Come now, Professor.” Dimitri pressed a finger underneath Byleth’s chin, pushing it up so that Byleth had no choice but to look the prince in the eye. “Do not go silent on me so quickly.” 

Byleth huffed softly, “Why do you expect me to say out loud something you haven’t even admitted yourself.” 

Dimitri’s eyebrow raised just a touch in surprise, it was a more confident response than he had expected. He supposed Byleth was right. And what kind of false king would he be if he couldn’t declare even the obvious truth. 

“Fair enough.” He smiled, a sickly sweet smile that said more about how pleased he was to have Byleth like putty in his hands than he was about anything else. “Professor, I a—”

“Byleth.” 

“—Pardon..?” Dimitri’s cool composure snapped momentarily, not prepared for an interruption. It gave him a moment to realize how tense he’d become. Even now, feelings that had been sitting deep within his heart for years now were difficult to properly give a voice. 

Byleth, on the other hand, felt a surge of confidence flash through him. Or maybe he was just trying to delay the inevitable. 

“You may refer to me as “Professor” any other time, but not when you say that. Use my name when you say that.”  
Even now, even after years of no longer being teacher and student, Dimitri struggled to refer to Byleth as anything but his title from the Academy. Even if he had managed to write it out, forcing it from his mouth was another matter. It was personal. Too personal. People who got too close to him ended up as ghosts, and “Professor” brought with it a nice sense of distance, no matter how physically close he might have been. Dimitri cursed inwardly, losing his grip on the control he was enjoying so much. The growing fire in those gleaming green eyes was enough to tell him Byleth wouldn’t be swayed on this one thing. 

Maybe it was fair, the shared sense of vulnerability. If Byleth was to roll over and show his belly in this moment, so to speak, perhaps the beast prince would need to do the same. 

“...I love you, Byleth. Even when I thought you gone from my life forever, I loved you.”

Byleth felt his breath hitch in his throat. He expected to hear a soft exhale of breath, see Dimitri untense. Yet his breath was still held. He was waiting. Maybe he was waiting in fear. 

“I love you too, Dimitri.”

For longer than he could ever fathom, Byleth thought as his prince relaxed and enveloped him in a cautiously gentle embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, you should follow me on social media! I'm normally an artist. @horodragon for twitter/DA/Insta, and horodragon-art on tumblr.
> 
> I've got a fun project bouncing around in my head right now to do with dimitri and a vocaloid song that i might take time off this fic to work on later, so if you wanna see that be sure to follow me one one of those platforms!


	14. Instant Messaging System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kicks down door* I'M BACK AND I BROUGHT THE ANGST TRAIN WITH ME.
> 
> Anyways sorry for the delay, I got *super* sick and it was all I could do to just go to classes this week, haha. But we back! (Whether or not that's a good thing is up to you.)
> 
> We've got a new POV for this chapter! And listen. I know Dimitri has two canon voices. And I love me some Chris Hackney and Kaito Ishikawa. But please consider a Dimitri with a light Russian accent. Thank you for your time.

...What is he to do now?

Dimitri found himself pacing back and forth along a drafty balcony, forced to brush away snow collecting in his hair every couple minutes. A smarter man would go inside, but he liked the cold. It helped clear his mind, sharpen his senses. And he was, by his own admission, also probably an idiot. 

“I am— I am in a relationship,” Dimitri mumbled under his breath to the dusty scaffolding, attempting to work out his thoughts. “My old professor is my, ah… Is my… Boyfriend..?” 

Dimitri frowned. There was so much of that sentence that felt off. The “my old professor” was an ethical minefield in and of itself, but as the crown prince of a nation his understanding of power dynamics had always been a bit complicated by that status. Perhaps he should, at the very least, finally respect his professor’s original request and refer to him as merely Byleth. There was no pretending that Byleth hadn’t inadvertently weaseled his way into Dimitri’s heart, attempting to forge some artificial distance by refusing to call him by name seemed pointless now. 

And then there was “boyfriend”. Dimitri cringed slightly, such a term felt so juvenile. Was it even accurate? Sure, they had confessed to each other a little over a week ago, and Dimitri had kissed him after that evening in his room. That particular memory only elicited another cringe. He had acted more on instinct in that one moment than he ever had on the battlefield. It was a miracle Byleth hadn’t fled the monastery in a panic. But aside from those two things, the two mens’ interactions had hardly changed from how they had been living together before. If anything, Byleth seemed more level headed than he had in ages, focusing further on whatever research it was that Dimitri had left him to. What was Byleth thinking now, did he even consider the two of them partners the way the young man desperately hoped he did? 

Is this really the thing he should be worried about right now?

“This is _pathetic!_” Dimitri roared out into the empty mountains, slamming his fist down on the balcony railing, miraculously leaving no damage. His head drooped and his hands busied themselves by grabbing and yanking on fistfuls of his own hair while he growled in frustration. 

What was he doing. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to focus on getting to Enbarr, he needed to focus on how he was to execute Edelgard. He certainly did not need to focus on pining over his professor like a lovestruck child. He had wasted enough time with that during the Academy, the voices echoing around his brain were quick to remind him. He had gone to enact revenge and instead piddled away his time with tea parties and flowers. Perhaps if his eyes had not been so constantly drawn to Byleth’s, he would have noticed that damn woman’s slithering behind the scenes sooner. 

He was a fool. A pathetic, selfish fool. A dumb beast quicker to answer to his own animalistic desires than the wishes of all the family he’d left behind. 

_Selfish, irredeemable, disgusting, useless, worthless-_

“—Dimitri?”

Dimitri pulled his hands from his face, having not realized he had slumped to the ground. He looked up to see Byleth looking over him, the sunlight reflecting off his hair and illuminating it like a halo. How symbolic. 

The man stooped down, slinging an arm over Dimitri’s shoulders. Dimitri was surprised by how unbothered he was by the action. Just over half a year ago he would have shoved the professor off the balcony, and instead he found himself relaxing under the added weight. He heard Byleth speak, but it took a moment for the words to register.

“I am here if you need me to be.” They were words of comfort, but they held a silent understanding that Byleth would leave him be, if that is what the prince wanted. Dimitri desperately wanted him to stay. Enough so that when words failed him, he was still able to grab onto Byleth’s hand, anchoring him to the spot beside him. Byleth nodded in response, and sat on the cold cobblestone beside him. Dimitri could feel the professor’s head sink into the fur hanging on his shoulder, just a little bit of warmth against the biting cold. 

Dimitri didn’t deserve this. 

He knew it. He knew it when Byleth found him hunched against a wall, dirty and angry and crazed. Not like those descriptors are all that much different now. And he knew it even as he pushed for Byleth to admit his feelings. He didn’t deserve Byleth’s kindness, let alone any love he had to give. But he wanted it. He wanted it more than food, or water, or air. He almost wanted it more than he wanted the voices to be assuaged. It was the one thing he could make sense of in his mind now, and it was impossible to let go no matter how much guilt dripped from his thoughts and enveloped his heart like oil. It was all Dimitri could do to sit and watch his own mental game of tug-of-war, his ghosts and his professor fighting for his attention, who would be the subject of those frustrating, blinding desires.

He wanted the voices to stop. He wanted to see his loved one’s smiles when he brought them the head of their murderer. He wanted to kill Edelgard, let the steps of an Adrestian castle run red and sticky with her blood. He wanted to destroy her armies, watch that infuriating pride crumble from her face, see the light leave her eyes. He wanted his revenge.

And then sometimes he didn’t.

Sometimes he just wanted Byleth. He wanted him the same way his younger self did. He wanted to see that mesmerizing smile of his, he wanted to hear those rare bouts of laughter, because sometimes when he got that he could forget about that woman. He wanted his professor to pat his head and tell him he was proud of him, and only him. He wanted Byleth all to himself, his kindness, his brilliance, his love, his body. He wanted Byleth to look up at him with his stunning emerald eyes, pinned underneath him just like this.

Just like this?

“Dimitri.” The prince registered the professor’s stern voice coming from beneath him faster than he registered the sight. “It’s time to come back to the real world.” 

Byleth had ended up on his back, presumably pushed down there by Dimitri, if Dimitri’s hands restraining Byleth’s wrists to the stone beneath them was any indication. His hair splayed out as much as its length allowed it to, the green contrasting the ever-so-subtle pink adorning his cheeks and ears. Whether that was from cold, or from embarrassment, Dimitri hadn’t the time to figure out. Instead, he dazedly scrambled off of where he had been straddling his professor, who was taking the time to sit back up and fix his cloak. 

“I— Forgive me, Prof—Proff-yleth—??” Dimitri grimaced as he tried to sort out his own jumbled apology and poor attempt at referring to Byleth by name. 

“It’s fine, Dimitri.” Byleth looked back at the young man, his face giving away nothing of his feelings. What had happened to his charmingly flustered reactions? “You startled me at first, but I knew you weren’t actually going to do anything when you just started staring at me.” Dimitri felt his own face flare up, picturing what must have been a painfully stupid look in his eyes. 

“No, it is not fine, I keep acting without knowing what I am doing, I…” The prince’s face contorted into one of disgust. If he was to act like an animal, then he had no business speaking like a human now. “I am sorry, I need to go.” 

“Wait, Dimitri it’s fine don’t go I—” Byleth attempted to snatch Dimitri’s cape as it whisked by, only to miss and watch as Dimitri rushed from the balcony and into the shadows of the monastery. Byleth sighed, flopping back down onto the snow-coated ground. He glanced at the books he had set aside before he had moved to comfort Dimitri. 

“...I needed to talk to you,” Byleth muttered, finally letting his cheeks turn bright pink as he tried to force the image of Dimitri on top of him out of his mind for the time being.

\---

“Go away, you damn nuisance!” Dimitri bellowed, for the third time in five minutes. 

He had found a perfectly pleasant place to sulk, far away from Byleth, only to be harassed by a very persistent owl. The bird, on the other hand, was unfazed by the black gloved hands attempting to throttle it. Moments after it flew away from its perch on the windowsill, it returned, flicking its feathers. 

For a time, owls were the only talkative guests Dimitri had shared his empty home with. They were already a staple of the monastery during the Academy, with the particularly smart birds being trained to act as mail carriers. They served their jobs well, inconspicuous enough in nearly every region in Fódlan to allow church officials and nobles a chance at correspondance without the concern of a mailman being apprehended by enemies. The students would abuse the poor birds’ services from time to time as well, using them to send love letters when the most oblivious of professors was not available to deliver them on his students’ behalf. Dimitri himself was the recipient of quite a few snow-white feathers, gifts from an odd mix of friends, hopeful girls, and Byleth. He had honestly appreciated them—with the constant number of quills he managed to snap in half, extra feathers proved useful. 

Long after the battle at Garreg Mach, the owls had stayed to greet Dimitri as he stumbled up the marble steps. They seemed to like the quiet, and they managed the kind of rat infestations Dimitri had been less preoccupied with. He didn’t pick up the feathers they dropped anymore. 

Dimitri let out a resigned sigh, slumping up against the wall and fidgeting with the lance in his hands, debating whether or not to use the owl as target practice. He had not wanted company. But the owl was indifferent to the prince’s wishes, and only cocked its head curiously as it watched the man play with the shiny pointy stick. 

Company. 

The thought was unappealing to Dimitri. 

Maybe it was just the shame that came with seeing himself compared with a proper human being nowadays, Dimitri found himself much more comfortable as the sole resident of Garreg Mach. He liked the loneliness, as alone as he could be in a haunted home. 

Byleth changed things. He hated it at first. He loathed the idea of hearing another set of footsteps echoing around the halls, the brief glimpses of a black jacket passing through his peripheral vision while he failed to pray in the cathedral. Distrust, shame, confusion, yearning that made his stomach knot. Byleth had brought too many things back with him all at once. He thought he could ignore it. Just will Byleth away. 

Dimitri had to insist that he was a very stupid man. 

Of course Byleth would have stayed. It’s Byleth. Be it stubbornness or stupidity, he wouldn’t let a student struggle alone. It was one of his many admirable traits. It was the kind of mindset that kept him at Ashe’s side after the mission to tear down Lord Lonato’s forces, the mindset that forced Sylvain to speak to his professor seriously, the mindset that kept Felix coming back to Byleth in the training hall time and time again. 

The sound of metal bending out of place echoed around the room. The owl gave a gentle hoot in response. Dimitri loosened the grip on his lance before he broke it in half. 

He didn’t like to think about those people. 

He wouldn’t let Byleth bring up those names, either. A strong enough glare or a grit of the teeth usually clued him in. As far as Dimitri was concerned, his old classmates could remain shadows of the past. They played no role in his little revenge play. The only one who may have had a place was Dedue, and Dedue was dead. Dedue was dead and it was his fault. 

Dimitri bit hard into his lip, hard enough to draw blood. He had started to spiral once already today, he did not care to do it again. The guilt would claim him later tonight anyways, Dedue could wait his turn. He had always been his most patient friend. 

Friends, no. No friends. No more friends. Byleth was enough. In fact, this was better, Dimitri had decided. At the Academy, he had had to compete for his professor’s attention. Every time he passed by the tables in the gardens and caught sight of Byleth chatting away with another person, he had felt his skin freeze. He had bitten back the desire to rip Byleth away from the table and demand a spar, or a lecture, or anything to pull his attention back to him.

Goodness, perhaps such thoughts were unhealthy. Then again, a lot of his thoughts were and still remain unhealthy. What is one more?

Then yes, this is good. Now Byleth was just his to enjoy. After all he has been through, maybe he deserves this one little light. No, Dimitri didn’t deserve it himself, really. But maybe it was the universe sending an apologetic gift on behalf of the living hell it had constructed for the young Prince of Faerghus. His own little world with the love of his life, plotting to overthrow the Adrestian Empire together. Now that is the kind of company Dimitri could enjoy. Dimitri couldn’t help but smile a little, quite contentedly constructing one fantasy after another in his mind. 

It was a shame that bloody owl’s hooting kept interrupting them. 

“For the Goddess’s sake, do _shut UP-!_” Dimitri snarled, pointing his lance at the bird with murderous intent. “Fly away, or we will be finding out if Byleth cares for owl meat in his meals!”

One resolute hoot was all the prince got in response. 

The only thing that saved the bird from its skewering was the sun. A little glint, visible when Dimitri stood up to take a lance throwing position. A metallic blue ribbon was tied to its’ leg, partially obscured by the owl’s leg feathers. Or, more specifically, it tied a tightly coiled piece of paper to the owl’s leg. 

Something about the sight made Dimitri’s stomach drop. 

He slunk over to the owl, reluctance written over all of his movements, including the fumbling he did with the ribbon. He unfurled the paper, a touch water stained from its journey. He read over the message. Short, simple, inexplicable.

He saw red.

\---

Byleth had followed the sounds of distant frustration to the prince’s new sulking spot. He was likely not in the mood for conversation, but perhaps if he found out Byleth had been working hard on his empress-killing research it would bring him back around. And then maybe he would be in a good enough mood to find out his professor could time travel.

Byleth wondered if he would finally have the guts to spit it out.

He slipped through the partially cracked door, seeing Dimitri hunched next to an open window. An owl flicked its gaze to him as he entered, giving another soft hoot and fluff of the wings. So that is what Dimitri had been shouting at. Byleth stepped closer, his concern for his desired discussion turning to concern for the curled blue figure. He held out a hand, hovering over the velvet of his cape. 

What escaped his lips in the next moment was not the prince’s name, but a cry of pain as his wrist was seized and his body was slammed into the brick wall beside him. 

“WHO HAVE YOU BEEN TALKING TO?!” 

Byleth shrunk under Dimitri’s gaze, as enraged and unseeing as it had been on Gronder Field in his first life. 

“WHO KNOWS YOU ARE HERE?!”

He saw stars as he was shoved harder into the bricks behind him, punctuating his question. His roars echoed in the small room so deafeningly Byleth’s ears began to ring.

“WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING BEHIND MY BACK?!”

He looked scared. A scared animal, lashing out.

“TELL ME YOU ARE A SPY AND I WILL CRUSH YOUR NECK LIKE A TWIG!”

Byleth felt fingers wrap around his throat before he had a chance to answer the flurry of questions.

“SPEAK, YOU DAMNED LYING DOG!”

The grip tightened. Byleth let out a choked wheeze. The grip loosened, and then it loosened further until Byleth felt himself slide to the floor, struggling to take in air. He hadn’t noticed he’d begun to tremble. Another sharp pain, now from his scalp, as Dimitri pried his head back up to look at a once-crushed piece of parchment held between his thumb and index finger. 

The beast hissed out in a voice already reeling from some self-constructed sense of betrayal. His face was contorted in pain and fear and confusion, echoing Byleth’s expression for everything save the added anger. He was trembling too, the piece of scrap shaking like a leaf between his fingers. _“What is this, Byleth?”_

It was a message. One written in a familiar script to Dimitri, and an unmistakable script to Byleth. 

“Are you alive, Professor?”

It was Ashe's handwriting.


	15. Settle It In Smash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really giving less of a fuck about chapter names as I go. 
> 
> Anyways, here's a hefty boy for today. 
> 
> I had initially considered making the first segment (before the break) a chapter I would have posted yesterday, but it felt so short and unsatisfying so I combined it with another scene. So, apologies for the slight wait, hopefully the content is worth it. :D

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you _don’t know?_”

Byleth kept a hand to his neck, suspecting bruises would form there soon enough. Dimitri towered over him, teeth bared in a perpetual snarl. The message was still held in an iron grip. Byleth was thankful it was the parchment in his hands, and not the lance he had abandoned at the window sill. 

Byleth coughed, trying to get his throat to function again. “I haven’t been in contact with anyone other than you.”

“And why should I believe you?” Dimitri snapped back. Byleth could feel flecks of spit landing on his face. Gross. 

“What would I gain from lying to you?”

“You would gain the trust I have so foolishly given you!”

Byleth scowled, getting progressively more frustrated now that the fear of Dimitri actually ripping him in two had subsided. “If you trusted me before, why not trust me now?”

“And risk a dagger in my back?” Dimitri scoffed, as if the answer was obvious. It was obvious to a paranoid mind, why wasn’t it getting through to Byleth? 

“Use your _damn head_, you stupid beast!” Byleth finally hollered back, pointing a finger at Dimitri’s chest plate as if he was scolding a petulant child. He saw Dimitri recoil slightly at the insult, a flash of pain crossing his eyes, but in that moment the professor failed to care. Dimitri had nearly strangled him over just a suspicion of betrayal, he could handle a verbal slap to the face. “Why on earth would I send any correspondence from the monastery and risk it getting intercepted by the Empire! Do you really think the two of us right at this moment could take down anything more than a scouting force?!”

“An Adrestian spy wouldn’t be concerned about something like that!”

Byleth shot up from where he had slumped, forcing Dimitri to stumble back despite Byleth’s smaller stature. “If I was a spy I would have killed you already, you moron! I would have let you bleed out when you tried gouging out your own eyes.” Byleth gestured wildly, his voice picking up tones of anger that were unfamiliar and terrifying to his opposing student. _“Why would I even need to kill you when you were doing a perfectly fine job of it yourself!”_

“Maybe—” Dimitri’s response cracked, his confidence waning and the rage he’d built up falling into fear. “Maybe you were ordered not to kill me. Maybe it would be something that woman would wish to do herself-!”

“No!” Byleth spat back, taking another step forward with the intent to gradually back Dimitri into the wall. “No, she wouldn’t! Because Edelgard is not an idiot! You are the only one in the world dead set on killing someone with your own bloody hands whether it means a death sentence for you or not!”

“I—” Dimitri felt the cool stone come up behind him, staring down at Byleth with eyes wide and anxious. 

“How _dare_ you accuse me of betraying you, after all of the shit I have put up with with you!” Byleth jammed his finger against his chest, punctuating each word. _“How dare you put your hands on me like that!” _

Dimitri shrunk with every word, releasing his hold on the paper message and letting it flutter to the ground. “Please—”

“Please _what_, Dimitri? What request could you possibly have after assaulting me over your own paranoid assumptions! If you expect me to treat you like a man then quit acting like an animal!”

Byleth’s tirade only elicited a weak whimper from the prince, who looked to be on the verge of collapse. “Please stop…”

Byleth scoffed, bending down to snatch up the fallen parchment. “You had once told me you preferred critique. Here’s your damn critique, Dimitri.” Another whine. Byleth couldn’t believe this was the beast he had fallen in love with. “Pull yourself together.”

It was all Dimitri could do to keep himself standing, let alone stable. His hand was gripping the few bricks that allowed for some form of purchase, his hair was draped over his face the same way his cape draped over his body, his entire being bent at a submissive angle. “Please…” The voice that had been bellowing just moments before, came out hoarse and desperate.

Byleth turned from where he had been examining the parchment, the anger in his face having been replaced with an indifference that was almost more alarming. “I am not leaving you here to sulk alone. Nor am I forgiving you. Not yet. So don’t bother asking for it.”

“Please don’t yell at me, Professor…” 

That wasn’t the voice Byleth had grown accustomed to. It was the ghost of a younger voice. One that lived off praise and kind words far more than was ever healthy but it was the only thing it had to drown out the guilty screams and demands. Byleth sighed inwardly, conflicted. He disliked the idea of letting Dimitri play the victim after what he had just pulled. But looking at his student now, the way he seemed to hide within the fabric draped around him, one blue eye peeking out in fear from a deathly pale face, he knew something he had done had flipped one of Dimitri’s many incomprehensible switches. 

Byleth rubbed his face, letting out a groan. This boy was a disaster. But he was his disaster, and he would figure out the appropriate disaster response. 

“Dimitri, breathe.” The hunched figure shifted slightly, wobbled slightly. Byleth walked over, slowly. Non-threateningly. “I frightened you, yes?” 

He received a single nod in response. 

“You frightened me, earlier.” No nod, but another wobble. 

“I am sorry for upsetting you. But do you understand why I yelled at you? Why I was frightened?”

Another nod, and a soft voice. “I hurt you.”

Byleth instinctively put a hand to his neck, frowning a little bit. “...You did, yes. You may have just been trying to intimidate me, but you hurt me.”

The soft voice began to break. “I am sorry…”

Byleth shook his head. “I am used to you underestimating your strength. The physical aspect is not necessarily what hurts the most.”

“I was scared…”

“That cannot be your excuse forever, Dimitri.” Byleth held out a hand. The blue eye flicked down, and then back up. His hand didn’t move from its perch on the wall. “If you never truly come to trust me, then I cannot stay with you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

That response caught Byleth off guard. He expected something else; A beg to stay, or an order. He had no good response ready. 

“I knew I didn’t deserve you,” Dimitri continued, finally sinking to a spot on the ground, his cape pooling underneath him. “You’re never going to fix me.”

One day I’ll shatter and you’ll get cut trying to pick up the shards. Byleth could hear Dimitri’s line of thought, and those thoughts made his stomach knot. “Fixing” Dimitri was all he had been trying to do since he got here. “Maybe not,” Byleth began, hesitantly. “Maybe I have been foolish for thinking I could. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t stay by your side while you work on repairing yourself.”

“You have better things to do than caring for wild animals.” 

The matter-of-factness of his statement made Byleth’s heart break, and it was all he could do to keep himself from launching into all the reasons why the prince wasn’t a beast, spitting out apologies for calling him as such. But no, that wouldn’t be honest. “Probably. But it is what I’ve chosen to do. If you are so concerned about the matter, than it is up to you to help me tame the beast living in this monastery.”

“Why won’t you leave..?”

“Because I don’t want to, Dimitri. This is my home.” Byleth tapped the stone floor with his foot. “You can’t kick me out of my home. You can only share it with me.”

Dimitri’s eye followed down Byleth’s arm and rested on the hand holding the message. “I don’t want to share it with anyone else.”

Byleth sat down, wanting to be on equal eye level. “Because you’re scared of having to learn to trust more people?” Dimitri shook his head no.

“I finally have you home. I don’t want to share you now.” 

Oh, that’s it. 

There’s more to it, Byleth was certain. But such a little admission illuminated a lot of Dimitri’s paranoia, at least one facet of it. Dimitri could accept a life where Byleth was nowhere to be seen, and he could accept a life where Byleth was fixed at his side. But a life where another person could pull Byleth away from him and all he could do was watch? That was unacceptable. His prince was much too possessive for his own good. A part of Byleth’s brain couldn’t help but nag at him, hypothesizing that such a reaction was his fault. A part of Dimitri’s subconscious that remembered lives where Byleth stood by another person, and then he went mad, and then he was executed. Keeping Byleth in his and only his grasp was a self-defense measure.

Whether the theory was true or not, Dimitri’s distrust towards comrades wouldn’t do. Especially not when one was reaching out. 

Byleth looked over the young man who had uncurled slightly, who was waiting for his professor to say something. Do something. Think of anything, he needed to think of something. His eyes swept over the room, drawn to the metallic sheen of Dimitri’s lance against the window. Something to convince the prince that living alone like this wouldn’t be sustainable forever.

And something that could help get out the last of Byleth’s pent-up frustration.

“If you don’t care to sit on this hard floor for any longer, I’d like you to join me in the training grounds.” Byleth’s request was met with a confused cock of the head.

“I would like a spar. If you want to make up for your actions today, I’d suggest starting with this.”

\---

Byleth had already removed his cloak and begun preparing a weapon when he heard a second set of slow footsteps wander into the training grounds. A part of him was a touch surprised, the look in Dimitri’s eye when Byleth left him had not been one eager for combat. Eager for much of anything, actually. Yet the young man was there, swapping the lance he had damaged with one that hadn’t been bent in rage.

Byleth wandered out into the middle of the arena, kicking up dirt and dust with each step. He watched Dimitri’s movements with intent, trying to deduce what kind of opponent he was about to have. Dimitri moved sluggishly, without much purpose. As he unclipped the cape from his shoulders, instead of setting it to the side he merely let it cascade down to the floor. The edge of his lance dragged the ground as he walked, metal scraping ringing around the room. For a man who had seemed to only smile on the battlefield, Dimitri was shockingly unenthused to have a weapon in his hands and an opponent across from him. 

Byleth began, “We’ll go until one of us is disarmed or deemed incapable of counterattacking.” During the Academy, it would typically be until one opponent admitted defeat. He knew better than to try that with Dimitri now. “You don’t need to hold back, but we shouldn’t be actively trying to cause bodily harm.”

“...An axe.”

Byleth’s eyebrows furrowed, and he followed Dimitri’s blank gaze to the axe Byleth was using to prop his weight up. “Ah, yes. It is.” Good to know his one remaining eye was in working order?

“Why are you using an axe..?” 

He should have expected the query, Byleth figured. “Just because I am no longer lecturing students, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t continue to have a wide grasp on weapon types.” A bit of a lame excuse, but if it earned him an understanding nod, then it must have sufficed. “Now, are you ready?”

Another nod, and the prince took a fighting stance, even if it looked as though he’d moved through molasses to get to it. 

“Alright,” Byleth frowned, already having reservations over Dimitri’s mental state. But he had to give it at least one try. “Begin.”

Dimitri didn’t move. Neither did Byleth, who suddenly had no idea what to do. 

Dimitri always made the first move. Even as a teenager, he was an aggressive fighter. Poised, refined, and well trained, but very aggressive. His professor had grown so accustomed to preparing some kind of parry or dodge that it was all he could do now to stand awkwardly and expectantly in the dirt. 

Byleth huffed, adjusting his stance. What kind of mercenary couldn’t adapt to unusual circumstances. If Dimitri had no interest in coming to him, then he should hope he still remembers how to block. 

He jetted forward, kicking up a cloud of dust as he swung his axe back, fully expecting Dimitri to raise his lance for a block; Axe attacks were difficult not to telegraph. It was all Byleth could manage to slow his swing at the last minute, the iron clanging against black armor like broken church bells. Dimitri winced, stumbling to the side with the force of the impact, his lance still held in some useless direction. 

Stepping backwards, there was confusion written all over Byleth’s otherwise neutral expression. “Focus, Dimitri!” Rocking back on his feet, Byleth launched himself forward, ducking to the side and sending the pommel of the axe into where his ribs would be, eliciting another metallic toll and stumble. Byleth pulled his axe back, hooking the blade onto the bottom end of Dimitri’s lance and ripping it out of his hands. The prince watched as the thin weapon settled into the dirt, before turning back expectantly to Byleth. He was tense. He was expecting Byleth to attack him again, as he stood unarmed.

Byleth retreated, his axe lowering. “Pick up your weapon, Dimitri.” His concern for the young man pulled his mouth into a frown. “I know you are capable of blocking these attacks, so why aren’t you?”

Dimitri pulled his head up from where it was looking at his feet, blonde strands falling back away from his face. “I am not supposed to.”

“I was not aware sparring now meant whaling on an unarmed opponent.”

Dimitri shifted, uncomfortable under this new interrogation. “You said this was to atone for my actions. It is not a punishment if I fight back.”

A sigh escaped Byleth’s lips, as he went to pick up the abandoned lance. “I never said this was a punishment, Dimitri. I asked you not to hold back.” Byleth extended his arm, lance balanced in his palm as an offering. “‘An eye for an eye’ has never been to my taste, anyways.”

It felt like an eternity before Dimitri took the lance in his hand. “If I don’t hold back, I’ll end up hurting you again.”

“Don’t sound so confident about that.” Good. Byleth’s plan hinges on that confidence. “Fight me properly, Prince of Faerghus. And wipe that self-pitying expression off your face.”

That last comment elicited a flicker of something other than pain in Dimitri’s eye, a good thing even if it was a flash of anger. In a moment, his lance snapped to attention. “You cannot get mad at me if you end this match with something broken.”

“I told you not to sound so confident.” Byleth couldn’t stop the smirk from forming on his face. “Now begin, boar prince.” 

Dimitri responded to the insult with only a characteristic snarl, barrelling forward just as Byleth hoped he would. The upper haft of Byleth’s axe blocked Dimitri’s swing with ease, but the sheer force sent the professor back a few steps. Byleth whirled, using the momentum brought on by the blade’s weight to speed up his turn and swing, only to be stopped by Dimitri’s own parry, the impact rattling up to Byleth’s ears. He just nearly missed his chance to duck out of the way of Dimitri’s counterattack. 

The axe was heavy. Byleth cursed the added weight, his speed was one of the few advantages he had on the prince. Speed and mercenary instincts, that was all. And he couldn’t guarantee Dimitri hadn’t surpassed the latter in his years alone. 

Another sweeping lance attack sent Byleth back another few feet, but the next one saw him holding his ground, the heels of his boots dug deep into the dirt. He met the weapon in a block that threatened to leave Byleth barrelled over, and for a moment the two men’s faces were but inches from each other. A competitive fire in their eyes that lit up the other’s face before Byleth twisted his weight, sending Dimitri kiltering off to the side, unable to catch himself. Byleth used the opportunity to swing his axe down, colliding hard with the obsidian protecting Dimitri’s back. The larger man stumbled further, using his lance to catch himself before he fell into the settling dust. 

Byleth was about to issue a command for Dimitri to rise, before the butt of a lance jutted out and struck his gut, all of his breath fleeing his body in an unbefitting wheeze. He could make out a pleased grin from between the messy strips of blonde when Dimitri turned his head. The prince wheeled around, lowering his weapon in a bid to sweep up Byleth’s legs with it. The mercenary had but a second to slam the hook of his axe to the ground, catching the lance before it forced him to the ground. 

Metal against metal continued to ring out for minutes on end, masking the sounds of grunts and heavy breathing with its violent percussion-only orchestra. Movements began to slow, but neither man cared to admit defeat. The prince had his pride to maintain, and the professor was on a mission. But what was there to do when two opponents were evenly matched, each attack being met with a flawless dodge, and an unforgiving counter? What was there that could give the other an edge?

...Dirt. 

Byleth settled on dirt. 

After having been brought to his knees by a particularly cruel slam of lance shaft to stomach, Byleth dug a hand into the shifting ground, before flinging the contents from his glove into Dimitri’s unsuspecting and overconfident smug little stupid face. 

Byleth was an unrivaled mercenary. No one ever said he was an honorable one. No one except the prince currently stumbling back and spitting dirt from his mouth. 

“What in the Goddess was that—!!” Dimitri was nearly launched off his feet as he attempted to keep his grip on his lance, while Byleth used his axe to tear it from his hands. It was all he could do to watch it clatter to the floor for a second time today, while Byleth charged full force into him, the momentum knocking both of them over. 

When the dust settled, Dimitri found Byleth atop him, blade of an axe held to his throat. 

Byleth struggled to force the words from his mouth while he was busy with heaving breaths. “I win.” 

Dimitri responded with a huff and a crass spit of more grime from his mouth. “That was a dirty move.”

“Do you think Edelgard won’t try to play dirty if it means survival?” Byleth steadied himself, ready to be flung off from the mere mention of the name. Instead, Dimitri only frowned, his exhausted eyes darkening. 

Byleth continued, trying his luck. “If you can't beat this axe on your own, why do you think you could defeat hers.”

“You’re cruel.”

“Coming from the man ready to strangle his only ally.”

Dimitri let out a harsh laugh, gritting his teeth in frustration yet closing his eyes, his head falling back and his hair resting under it like a bed of gold straw. “This was a lesson, was it, Professor?”

“I told you it wasn’t a punishment.” Byleth removed the weapon from Dimitri’s throat, dropping it with a thunk. “I am going to respond to that message.”

“I don’t want companions.” Dimitri’s eye opened just a sliver, his hand finding a grip on Byleth’s free arm. The man felt as though he weighed nothing atop him, it would take no effort to fling the unyielding professor off. But that would only mean he would return with a different lecture. 

What was it he had said? Dimitri struggled to recall it through his exhausted haze. It was up to him to help tame the beast in the monastery? Fine. 

Dimitri sighed in defeat. “...But I will accept soldiers.” 

The admission earned him a happy pat on the head as Byleth slid off of him. 

“Correct answer, Dimitri. Full marks.” Byleth shifted, resting his head against Dimitri’s chestplate as he laid beside him in the dirt. Both their faces were still a touch pink from exertion, Byleth was sure Dimitri wouldn’t notice a blush. Dimitri, in turn, rested a hand against Byleth’s head. The mess of green fluff was satisfying to play with, and he appreciated that his professor didn’t seem to mind his touch. 

“By the way,” Byleth added, after a couple moments of silence broken only by weary breaths.

“Yes?” 

“If you try to choke me without my permission again, I’m breaking up with you.”

“...Understood.” Dimitri felt his own blush creep up his cheeks. Then Byleth really did see him the way Dimitri prayed he would. The realization lit a warm, childish spark in his chest. Byleth was his boyfriend. The young prince bit back a desire to break into a giddy grin. His boyfriend. How juvenile. How absolutely wonderful. How—

_“...Wait, what do you mean ‘without my permission'—”_


	16. Dating For Dummies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so early readers forgive me for this has not been well read over but im super sleepy and want to get this chapter published. I'll come back and fix my inevitable mistakes later.
> 
> EDIT: fixed it lol. Also you should know this was the chapter that really reminded me how much I never write romance. There were points where I just kinda. Stared at google docs. Dazed and confused. Jokes on you all Byleth is me, I am the clueless one.

Byleth watched the sweep of the owl’s wings, feathers illuminated in the sunlight peeking over the mountain tops. It had waited for him patiently, its wise eyes investigating the new parchment replacing its delivered message. 

Just a single word. “Yes.”

It must have been at the marketplace. He hadn’t seen anyone he recognized, but unless one of his old students was currently crawling about in the rafters, there wouldn’t have been another instance where Byleth was in the public eye. He mulled question after question over in his mind. Was it Ashe himself who had seen him, or was he in correspondence with someone who had? And if so, who? Was it a student of Garreg Mach, or a Knight of Seiros? Gilbert was a strong possibility, but Ashe really had no reason to exchange letters with Annette’s absentee father of all people. Unless all his old students had been told, in which—

Byleth gave his head a furious shake, strands of mint flipping into matching eyes. No, there’s no reason to be falling down a paranoid rabbit hole now. He could leave the catastrophizing to Dimitri, who was still not wholly enthused by this whole matter. Byleth supposed there was only one real question to answer. 

When should they be expecting visitors?

He was surprised by how mixed his feelings were about it. If the chicken-scratch notes splayed out all over his desk had anything to say about it, his half-formed plans for peace required all of Byleth’s little lambs back with him. And having them back just a little under a year and a half early? Surely that would be a good thing.

So why was he dreading the thought? 

“Profess- Ah, Byleth..?”

Byleth turned towards the source of the verbal stumble, charmed by Dimitri’s difficulty using his actual name. The prince stood in the doorway, looking out in the direction of the owl’s flight path. He didn’t have much of anything written on his face, but his voice was level. Not angry or betrayed, just a bit groggy after what Byleth could only assume was another restless night of half-sleep. “Did you send the return message?”

Byleth nodded. “Now we just hope it lands in friendly hands.” A simple snowy owl was as common as the rodents it hunted in Faerghus; Surely it wouldn’t attract the eyes of Imperials. Surely. 

“Or in a river. A mountain abyss.” Dimitri offered a thin smile, trying his hand at humor. “A campfire, perhaps.” His attempt earned him a roll of Byleth’s eyes, which was reward enough for him. Emotion of any kind—excluding anger—from his professor was a treat, but it seemed to be flowing more freely as of late. 

Byleth folded his arms, speaking petulantly. “You are going to make friends, so help me Goddess.”

“If you of all people are invoking the will of the divine, I must be too far gone.” Another eyeroll. Dimitri was doing quite well this morning. “Regardless,” He shifted topics, the joking lit to his voice fading, “I will be leaving momentarily as I believe it was my turn to go hunting, and if I recall correctly you were grumbling about the lack of meat in storage the other day—”

“Let’sgoonadate.” Byleth blurted out the request so quickly it sounded like an incantation. 

Incomprehensible as it was, it got Dimitri to stop rattling off daily plans. “...Come again?”

Byleth sucked in a breath through his teeth, holding back the redness of his cheeks through sheer willpower. He had been doing quite well, keeping his lovestruck fluster in check ever since his confession. It seemed as though putting it out in the open freed up space in his mind for some much needed confidence, if not the emotional control he once enjoyed. He’ll get that back sooner or later, he was sure. Hopefully sooner. Please.

“I think. We. Should go on. A. Date.” A delivery as smooth as gravel, but it did its job. Byleth took another breath, focusing on smoothing his speech. “I… Well, I do not know how much longer we will have the monastery to ourselves, and…” He tip-toed around his thoughts, mashing puzzle pieces together until he got a proper sentence. “And now that we have come to an agreement on our relationship, further steps would be favorable.” 

Dimitri responded with a befuddled blink, either trying to work out the content of Byleth’s words or why they were presented with three different tone shifts. “You are asking me on… A date.” Yes. Yes, absolutely, of course, it sounds wonderful, why on earth would he ever say no. Except he has to say no. 

Dimitri shook his head, despite looking reluctant even doing that much. “Byleth, we have too much yet to do to engage in… Frivolities.” He frowned, gaze moving to an invisible to-do list. “I have squandered enough of my time as it is. And you have promised me a plan to infiltrate Enbarr and defeat that woman, which has yet to be delivered.” 

A soft huff escaped Byleth’s lips. The prince really insisted on being difficult at every turn. “Would you like to see the disaster area my room has become to prove I have been working?” 

“I saw it the last time I carried you back to bed.”

“That was forever ago,” Byleth waved him off. “And those plans may be changing, if we have more people to work with.” Just going to omit that he planned for those extra soldiers from the beginning. He was finally in a relatively good mood, not going to ruin it with time travel. “I can’t work on an accurate strategy without knowing how many pieces are in the game.”

“How poetic.” Dimitri leaned up against the doorframe, eliciting gentle thunks as his armor met wood. 

It was odd for someone who spent much of his time in the past months collecting dust in the cathedral to speak on wise time usage. Which means there’s something else.

“Dimitri, does the idea of spending time for the sake of your own happiness bother you?”

Dimitri met the query with a frown, his eyes darting away from Byleth’s soft gaze. “...The Empire will continue to make their moves while I am busy trying to be ‘happy’.” He punctuated the last word as if it were some odd piece of gibberish. 

“As they would if you went hunting, or training, or sleeping.”

“Look at my face and say that I have been sleeping, Byleth.” Dimitri’s gaze fell further, his arms hanging limp at his sides. It was true, that was one thing the professor had yet to properly address. Some color had returned to the prince’s naturally pale face over the course of a few months, but the dark circles under his eyes hung steadfast in their spot. After a moment of silence, Dimitri continued, voice low. As if he was trying to hide from something. “Do you think they will speak kindly to me tonight if I take your offer, no matter how badly I may wish to?”

Byleth thought in that moment how much he would like to muzzle Dimitri’s imaginary dead family. Inappropriate, yes. But he had no solution in shutting up the poor man’s mental jury. 

Byleth walked forward, slowly enough that his boots only sounded a gentle padding across the stone. He stopped in front of Dimitri, taking a gloved hand reluctantly given and holding it in his own. “...One day. I’m only asking for one.” He looked up into Dimitri’s weary face, watching him struggle to make eye-contact. “And tonight, do not run off and hide alone. I may not be able to speak to… To them. But I can be with you through it.” He knew such an offer would have been impossible during the Academy, even when he had seen his student wander into classes the next morning masking exhaustion. He was sure what was haunting him at that time was nothing compared to what the older man in front of him was facing, but Byleth couldn’t quite erase the guilt of allowing him to suffer through even his few moments of peace. 

Dimitri may have done terrible, gruesome things. So had Byleth. But he had to believe that the both of them deserved to find happiness, or else he no longer knew what he was fighting for. 

He gave Dimitri’s hand a gentle squeeze, urging on a response. “Please, Dimitri. If it eases your guilt, consider yourself answering your professor’s request.” 

He heard soft air escape Dimitri’s lips, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. He had conceded defeat. “Do you even know how to have a date?”

...Byleth did not. Luckily for him, though he would not admit it, neither did the prince. 

\---

Byleth’s eyes drooped, the rhythmic feeling of fingers combing through his hair threatening to put him to sleep. He thought the image might be a bit amusing, making a mental connection as he observed a pair of birds in a nearby evergreen with a lazy gaze. He was being preened by his precious beast. 

Dimitri was careful not to tug hard at any point, picking out stray shards of leaf that had fallen into Byleth’s hair during their brief hunting spree. Byleth had offered the unconventional date activity as a way to ease Dimitri’s guilt over his perceived unproductivity. As long as they did it together, surely it could still be considered a date, yes? And it had lead to a delicious impromptu picnic, despite the nippy winter weather. All was well. Byleth was the master of faking competence in things he clearly had no expertise in. Romance would be no different, he assured himself. 

“Why is it you like to play with my hair so much?” Byleth muffled a yawn, leaning back a bit. 

“It is one of the few delicate activities I find not to be impossible for me.” Byleth could admit it was true, Dimitri was being unusually gentle just as he had while Byleth had been bedridden. The occasional yank on a tangle, but nothing much different from when Byleth brushed his own hair. And the added warmth radiating from behind him made it all the more pleasant. “I must admit, I know the circumstances of its change were not ideal, but…” Byleth could imagine the blush forming across Dimitri’s pale cheeks. “I could not imagine you looking any more stunning, and then you escaped that void appearing even more like an angel.” 

An angel couldn’t be further from the truth, Byleth thought. 

Dimitri was too caught up in his admiration to notice Byleth’s silence, lightly pinching a bundle of stands between his thumb and index finger. “It practically _glows_, as do your eyes. That just seems impossible, and yet. Everything about you seems utterly ethereal, like complete fantasy.”

Continue, and all the prince threatened to do was guilt Byleth out of the date before it had a chance to claim Dimitri later. “Dimitri, please,” Byleth offered a weak laugh, brushing off the feeling gnawing at his stomach. “You might as well be writing a love sonnet at this point. An inaccurate one, at that.” The grooming halted, and Byleth bit back an involuntary protest. 

“Inaccurate? Byleth, surely you must be able to see how incredible you are.” His incredulous tone held hints of his past self. If Dimitri was practiced in anything, it was complimenting his professor. But now the compliments flowed more freely, more honest. Not caught up in princely restraint. “You are tactically brilliant, not to mention one of the strongest warriors I have had the opportunity to fight alongside.” Byleth jolted slightly when he felt Dimitri’s arms slide up under his own, wrapping around his stomach. “Perhaps it is unseemly to have such thoughts on a battlefield, but watching you single-handedly tear apart ranks of soldiers is as mesmerizing as your smile.” Byleth chose to believe that particular thought came from Current Dimitri, as the idea that the good little prince had been admiring his blood-soaked professor mid-mission made him feel even more guilty. Of what, he was not fully sure. 

Dimitri continued, dissuaded by nothing. Byleth felt Dimitri’s forehead press against the back of his head, causing his voice to muffle. “And your smile, Goddess above.” Goddess is unavailable, please take a message, Dimitri. “It is always so kind. _You_ have always been so kind. Every waking minute you seemed to be helping someone with something. I suppose you can imagine how jealous that made me.”

“Don’t pretend like that’s past tense,” Byleth interjected, his red face betraying how overwhelmed he was getting from the flood of complements. 

Dimitri let out a breathy chuckle, squeezing Byleth a little tighter. “True. But can you blame me?” Byleth sensed a shift, and suddenly Dimitri’s voice was right in his ear, low and smooth, forcing a shiver out of Byleth that he wasn’t prepared for. “What was I to do when my handsome Professor wasn’t paying attention to me?” 

Byleth own voice came out revealingly frazzled. “We have got to work on your possessive streak.”

Another laugh, another unfortunate shiver. “Byleth, is there not some little part of you that enjoys it?” 

Byleth scrunched up his face, eyes shut tight. “You are getting a lot better at using my name, good job—”

“—Don’t avoid the question, my dear professor.” The interjection came out in a sing songy voice, gently chiding Byleth’s attempt at changing the subject. 

Byleth bit his lip. This was killing him. Literally, he felt his lifespan dropping a year per second, or perhaps every time he felt Dimitri’s breath against his ear. Can your lifespan drop if you’re immortal? Is he immortal, even? Byleth had no way of figuring that out.

“...In…” Byleth was fully prepared for death. End him. “In the right context, _maybe…_” 

“And what kind of context would that be?”

_This date was a mistake. He was not ready for this. End him, please Sothis come back from the void and end his miserable existence. _

The fearless mercenary’s voice cracked like a child. “Something like this.”

Byleth could practically feel the smirk that curled behind him, and he could definitely feel when Dimitri’s teeth briefly clamped down on the ear he had just been cooing into, a little nip that forced a pathetic yelp from Byleth’s mouth and an attempt to scramble out of Dimitri’s grip. The young man allowed his escape, caught up in his own laughter. If Byleth’s mind hadn’t been instantly scrambled in the moment, he would have appreciated the sound; A gentle bellow, free of bitterness that so often accompanied it. 

Byleth slid forward on the ground, turning back to face his affectionate attacker, one hand protectively cupped to his ear. “What was that for?!” He sounded more scandalized than he did upset. 

Dimitri swallowed up the last of his laughter in order to answer. “I wanted to see your reaction.”

Of course he did. Byleth puffed up his pink cheeks, only half-feigning his annoyance. “You could have warned me.”

“But then your reaction would not be as entertaining. You would have had a chance to put that mask of yours back on, and I like to see you much more with it off.” He pointed to his face, emphasizing his point. A light flush of his own betrayed just how much false-posturing he was doing himself. 

“You don’t see me trying to purposely mess with you, you know.”

“That is because you know I am not nearly as strong as you.” He reached out to snatch Byleth’s hand as he offered his explanation. Byleth was always stunned at the ease with which Dimitri was able to yank him around. 

“Don’t say you’re not strong when you do that.”

“Do what?” Don’t put on an innocent voice, it hardly matches the face. 

“When you pull and lift me around.” 

Byleth caught his mistake the moment Dimitri tightened the grip on his hand. “Oh, you mean when I do _this._” With little more than a low grunt, Byleth was hoisted onto Dimitri’s lap, a spot he was absolutely not emotionally prepared to be sitting in. It was so close. Too close. Too warm. Too uncomfortable with hard bits of armor poking into his legs, which lead to further discomfort when Byleth’s mind jumped to imagining the armor off its owner. 

Something about Byleth’s startled face must have prompted Dimitri to break character, but he hardly heard it through all the blood once again rushing to his brain. “Byleth, are you well?” Sorry Dimitri, Byleth is also out at the moment, you’ll need to leave another message.

“Professor, if I have gone too far, please tell me.” The muffled voice sounded more apprehensive, and he could feel his body already beginning to be pulled off its new perch. 

“NowaitI’mgood—” It was words. Sort of. It was similar enough to words to get Dimitri to relax once more, and allow Byleth to settle back into place. 

Byleth blinked, allowing himself to focus on the face in front of him. Dimitri’s eyebrows were still furrowed in concern, an icy eye scanning his face for signs of discomfort. “...You are certain?” Byleth nodded, and the face softened further, letting out a sigh of relief. He could feel a hand rest against the small of his back, radiating heat up his spine to meet the other hand absent-mindedly stroking a thumb between his shoulder blades. It managed to be relaxing and forcing anxious jitters at the same time. Conflicting. Everything about this was so conflicting, and new, and different, and strange, and mind-meltingly exciting. 

Byleth struggled to recall times he had been this close to another person, at least not when he was feigning unconsciousness. 

Byleth did toss around the idea that he was, in fact, unconscious. It was possible. He had eaten undercooked venison and had fallen into a coma. This was all a fever dream. A very vivid fever dream, where the prince in front of him was bright and clear and strong. Not blurry, hidden under foggy layers of subconscious guilt and denial. Yes, this was just a particularly pleasant recurring dream of his, and it would be best if he did what he always did in his fuzzy, shameful fantasies. 

The kiss was a lot warmer than usual. Guess he wasn’t dreaming after all.

Byleth could feel the muscles in Dimitri’s arms stiffen from where they pressed against him, every other part of him a mystery under the layers of armor and clothing. He settled for wrapping his own arms over his shoulders, burying his hands in the thick fur of Dimitri’s cape. There was something satisfying about the way the prince froze up, like Byleth was finally able to pluck a little bit of control back from his lips. It was appreciated, as Byleth’s experience was limited and from far too long ago, but it was still more than what the young prince had. A tilt of the head felt more natural, and Dimitri responded in kind. When Byleth let his mouth open just a touch more, the young man followed his lead. 

To a more experienced eye, perhaps it was a sloppy, awkward display of affection. But it was all the two knew how to do, and neither was keen to stop. It was warm, and soft. Softer than what Dimitri had attempted the evening of his birthday. Byleth let his hands move from plush fur to silky hair, letting his fingers brush through and tangle up in the blonde strands. He felt himself press closer to Dimitri’s chestplate, the strong arms tightening their grip around him. What was one kiss gradually became many, short breaths taken as quick as possible between each one, eager not to stay apart for long. By the time he pulled away completely, Byleth had cupped Dimitri’s face in his hands, feeling the sharpness of his jaws under the palms of his hands, his thumbs lightly stroking cheeks that had grown thoroughly and preciously flushed. Dimitri’s eye was still shut, gold lashes draped down, peaceful and content and thoroughly loved, even if he did not believe that.

Byleth was terribly proud of being the source of such an expression. 

\---

A rare occurrence, yet every time Byleth marveled how dwarfed his room appeared when Dimitri stood in it. Byleth had grown used to the size disparity between the two, but there were moments where it really hit him just how damn big Dimitri was now. 

Byleth bit his lip. That’s where that line of thought would stop, immediately. 

Dimitri shuffled on his feet, too busy looking awkward to notice Byleth, also looking awkward. “You do not have to allow this, Professor. I know you promised it, but really, I am more trouble than it is worth at night—” Byleth thought it funny, he had begun to notice Dimitri would slip back into his old naming habits whenever he got self-conscious. It was a very endearing tell.

“A promise is a promise. I told you I would stay by your side tonight.”

Dimitri looked around, eye flicking about the room. He had only ever come to this room to deliver his dozing professor, save for the tea party that had been safely during the daytime. Despite everything, despite how utterly ridiculous the feeling was, the prince couldn’t shake the feeling that spending the night in Byleth’s room was inappropriate. Of all the things to do with himself, that was what he deemed unseemly. “Must it be in your room, though?”

The click of a lock was his answer. “I imagined you would feel safer in a locked room, and your old room is still a wreck.” Byleth added as an addendum, “And I would still like to sleep in a bed.”

Dimitri eyed the small bed, anxiety still lacing his face. “...I have grown accustomed to the floor, if you do not mind.”

Byleth nodded. He wasn’t planning on forcing Dimitri into something he was uneasy with, and it was just as well. Neither Byleth’s heart nor his bed frame could comfortably take a second person. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to change.” He padded to his closet, peering in. “I don’t know if I have anything that would fit you, but if you would like to borrow night clothes I’m sure I can make something work.”

“I generally don’t change.”

“I assumed so, but there’s no need for you to hide in armor tonight.” Byleth glanced back over his shoulder, his night shirt draped over his arms. “Sleep comfortably for once, Dimitri. And close your eye or turn your back, would you?”

Dimitri’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, before realization dawned and he spun on his heel, suddenly very interested in papers strewn across Byleth’s desk. They appeared to be battle plans, but wholly illegible ones to any eyes other than the mercenary’s. Dimitri found some formation designs a touch odd, though. There seemed too many dots for a force of two. It had been but a day since Byleth sent back the owl, no time to plan formations for a whole predicted battalion. And odder still was the sheer lack of these unusual war plans in and amongst overwhelmingly long lists and notes. His tactician had been busy at work, but what kind of work had he been consumed with?

“Alright, you can turn back around.” The voice broke Dimitri from his stupor, the stress that had begun welling up in his soul dissipating at the sight of his slightly disheveled companion. His night robes were simple and loose, familiar Seiros-specific embroidery tracing the edges of the fabric. Parts of his hair stuck up in emerald tufts, where slipping his shirt over his head had disturbed it. His eyes were already drooped from fatigue. 

He was so cute.

“Do you need help out of your armor, or are you determined to be even more miserable on the floor?” Byleth came closer, reaching out to fiddle with the straps on Dimitri’s arm guard. It seemed as though there would be no arguing on this matter after all. 

“I can manage, thank you.”

“Good. You do that, and I’m going to go pilfer you bedding from one of the other rooms.” Byleth figured the quality and cleanliness of such bedding wouldn’t be high on Dimitri’s lists of concerns, and he promptly unlocked and slipped out of his room before Dimitri could insist it was unnecessary. As Byleth returned with the bundle of down feather blankets, the last of Dimitri’s jet black armor had thunked to the floor, piled in a corner of the room. 

Byleth busied himself setting out the bedding, yet still managed to find time to admire his guest between fluffs of pillows. Dimitri’s undershirt was made of a thin, tight black fabric that fit snugly against the contours of his chest and down his arms, and the matching pants did much of the same for his legs. He couldn’t say it left all that much up to the imagination, and it didn’t even need to. If his years alone had done one singular good thing for Dimitri, it was improving upon his otherwise spindly noble figure. 

“Professor- Er, Byleth. You’re staring.” 

Dammit.

“Just. Just sit and don’t mention that.” Byleth huffed and patted the make-shift bed he’d prepared before falling into his own. 

“It’s flattering.” An encouraging smile. The prince got another embarrassed huff back. 

“Time for bed, goodnight sweet prince.” Byleth rolled over onto his side and continued to pout at the wall in peace. He had spent part of the evening attached by the lips to someone who was effectively his partner, yet still couldn’t bare to admit he stared at the man from time to time. What paradox was his mind. 

“Goodnight, Byleth.” He felt something heavy and familiar drape over his figure, and then the sound of Dimitri lying down on the floor beneath him. It had been a fair amount of time since Dimitri had offered Byleth his cape, the added warmth unnecessary when Byleth kept that old fur gift clipped consistently to his winter ensemble. But in the moment, the soft velvet and fur enveloping him in warmth and a distinctly familiar smell was immensely comforting. 

Byleth shifted to his other side, swaddling himself in a blue cocoon, eyeing its owner as he attempted to fall asleep. He looked unusually vulnerable outside of his protective shell, curled in on himself. Vulnerable, save for the glint of sheathed metal that peeked out from under a hand. His birthday gift was clutched loosely in a hand, one little protective lifeline to ease the paranoia. Byleth could see blue that matched the dagger’s handle, staring out into the shadows under his bed. 

“Close your eyes, Dimitri. I promise I won’t fall asleep before you do.”

The blue flicked upwards, meeting green. Dimitri gave an understanding blink, and another shift. His eyes gradually fell closed. The wind outside rattled Byleth’s window, a winter rhythm set to help the prince drift off. In time, his face relaxed and steady breaths escaped his mouth. 

Difficult as it was to see in the darkened room, Byleth admired the rare moment of peace. He still wasn’t ready to take it away. 

“I need to tell you…” The words were muffled and lost against the fur held to Byleth’s mouth. “Before anyone arrives, I need to tell you the truth…” 

It seemed as though the guilt pulled at Byleth just as it began to pull at Dimitri. He could hear soft whines turn to restless mumbles, turn to sleep talking with a waking nightmare. It was the same chorus of promises and pleas Byleth had grown accustomed to hearing. He was ready, reaching down to grasp the hand not already busy with a blade. His grip turned to iron for just a moment, his nightly mantra devolving into something different, and incomprehensible. His voice softened in time with his grip, but he never fully let go. 

That was fine. He might not know it, but Byleth needed the touch as much as he did. 

He hoped more than anything in the world he wouldn’t lose this touch tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also for those wondering why Byleth is still so clueless about dating and romance despite having been married in a past life: Look and Linhardt and tell me he is the epitome of romance. Byleth didn't learn shit from that boy.


	17. No One Likes Time Travel Plots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dimileth drama coming at you live from Super Typhoon Hagibis. 
> 
> If the next chapter never comes, assume I got consumed by the danger donut. (Seriously, check out the space photos of the typhoon, its a big ol round boy.)

Tomorrow came.

Tomorrow went.

Byleth slept poorly that night.

The next day came. 

The next day went. 

Dimitri smiled too many times. Byleth got a forehead kiss that was too gentle. He didn’t tell him.

The next week came.

The nausea at night was getting worse. Byleth couldn’t get up, he didn’t want to disturb the prince lying beside his bed. Dimitri had started returning to his professor’s room each night. He had begun to sleep. He felt safe. 

Byleth stopped sleeping.

The next week went.

Byleth didn’t tell him.

The next day came.

Dimitri cooked Byleth dinner. He remembered to use the herbs Byleth had gathered long before. He looked so proud. Byleth didn’t tell him.

The next day came.

Bandits snuck into the monastery again. Dimitri killed them all. Byleth was lethargic, he failed to dodge an arrow, it embedded in his shoulder. Dimitri looked so worried. He helped tend to the wound, his hands equal parts clumsy and gentle. Byleth didn’t tell him. 

The next day came.

Dimitri brought Byleth a bouquet of flowers collected from the greenhouse. It was to decorate Byleth’s room. He didn’t think Byleth’s room should be full of nothing but papers for war. He smiled an embarrassed smile. He had begun smiling so much. Byleth didn’t tell him. 

The next week came.

Dimitri was antsy. He asked Byleth when the plans for Enbarr would be ready. Byleth told him when he could guarantee they would work. Dimitri asked to see them. Byleth told him no. Dimitri didn’t push the matter further, for the professor looked so tired. Dimitri told him to rest, if he was struggling to do his work. Byleth didn’t tell him.

The next week came.

Byleth was exhausted. He fell asleep while Dimitri held his hand. Byleth woke up screaming. Neither man slept that night. Byleth didn’t tell him what the nightmare was about.

\---

Byleth had never considered himself a particularly strong man. Physically, maybe, but his own students could surpass him on that front. 

But people thought he was strong. They would take one look at him on the battlefield, unfazed by the horrors of war, a mask of quiet confidence focused solely on leading his wacky ragtag band of child soldiers to victory. He didn’t understand why that was considered strength. It sounded more like cruelty, but it was what he was ordered to do, and a good mercenary knew how to follow orders. 

Byleth knew better. He knew he was a bad person. A bad person trying to make up for bad things by trying to fix one person, even though he knew all he was doing was frantically taping back together shards of a long shattered heart. 

He was weak, and he couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t turn that glass to dust with a single stomp. 

He was scared. He wasn’t ready for Dimitri to hate him, because Byleth knew he deserved that hate.

And he was so, so tired.

_“Professor-?!”_

Byleth didn’t know how long he had been on the floor of the greenhouse. He had been watering the plants, and it smelled so nice, and the building was warm and reminded him of happy times and he missed his students so badly he thought he might turn back time just a touch. How long had it been since he had last slept? Three days? Four? They were beginning to blend together.

Black and blue flooded his vision as Dimitri kneeled down, lifting Byleth into his arms. Always the feral gentleman. “Professor- Byleth, please,” Dimitri’s voice skirted the realms of begging. “You have been acting ill for days, tell me what is wrong with you. I am no healer but I can try to care for you as I have before.”

Byleth voice came out in a croak that startled even him. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you _can’t_,” Dimitri’s grip around him tightened as he pleaded. “Do you not trust me?” 

Please don’t look at him like that. Not with eyes like a wounded dog. “I do, Dimitri. I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t, but…” His voice trailed off, his eyes focusing on the stalks of a fast wilting bunch of daffodils. He hated daffodils. Stupid flowers that bloomed too early and fell to the first cold snap of spring.

“But nothing! Do you expect me to watch you wither, while I remain clueless?” 

_“I can’t.”_ His voice was splintering like the branch of a long dead tree. 

“I am begging you to talk to me, Professor!” His voice sounded too young. Go back. Go back to when Dimitri spoke with his back to him in a heartless beastial growl. It would be easier to take the hatred then.

_“I can’t!”_ His choked voice echoed around the greenhouse, the voice of a stranger. There was nothing he could do about the water welling up in his eyes, obscuring the blonde staring down at him with horror on his face. He had never properly seen his professor cry. 

It was all Byleth could continue to mumble out, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t tell you,” all in a broken rhythm while tears spilled down his cheeks. Dimitri didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know whether or not to rock Byleth in his arms and coo the way he had wanted people to do to him when his sobs brought him to his knees. He didn’t know whether to run away, or if he even could. The deep, heavy knot in his stomach threatened to weigh him down. He didn’t know how to comfort his dear professor. Suffering was something you shouldered in silence, and wailed about in solitude when it became heavy enough to break your spine. Not something you share in the arms of another on the floor of a greenhouse.

Dimitri could see the fear in Byleth’s eyes, the green glistening wet. He hated it. He hated it more than he hated seeing anger there. His Byleth was strong, he was always strong and he always protected him even when he didn’t want protection. He wasn’t prepared to see fear, a fear that was completely raw and completely his fault. Dimitri knew it was fear of him, because that’s what it always was. His words came out before his brain could stop them. “You cannot tell me, because you are afraid of me.”

The shake of the head he got was hesitant. The denial was a lie, and a poorly given one at that.

“You are afraid of how I will react.” 

Byleth’s stomach lurched. Dimitri was going to force the truth out of him, and he was going to lose him as a result. 

Dimitri sighed when Byleth did not even attempt to contradict his statement. “I understand,” he offered solace in the most pitiful of voices. “I have not reacted well in the past. Telling me might put you in danger.” It was so frustrating for him. The self-awareness Byleth had brought to him made his acts of compulsion hurt that much more. Flying into fits of rage was so much easier on the soul when one’s eyes were clouded red. But to play the part of a passive audience, watching himself hurt the only person he had left, that was a punishment even Dimitri thought may be too much. 

“Is this all to do with how you have not been sleeping?” Byleth gave a silent nod, broken only by a pathetic sniff. Recognition passed through Dimitri’s mind. He could see his own feelings reflected in the dark circles under those puffy red eyes. It was guilt that was eating away at the professor’s body, the same way it picked apart his own. Guilt and fear.

The knowledge turned Dimitri’s skin to ice. 

Byleth is a traitor. Byleth is a spy. Byleth has only come to hurt you, to build you back up in time for Edelgard to strike you down. A traitor, a guilty traitor trapped in the arms of a dangerous monster. Dimitri either swallowed back the thoughts, or his own vomit, he couldn’t tell. His mouth tasted like acid either way. The paranoia screamed bloody murder in his mind, and it was everything he could do not to act on it. Not to lash out like his body wanted to, to do what was familiar. Not to be a beast. 

He settled for gripping Byleth’s hand too tight. That action had become familiar too.

“If you cannot tell me what is hurting you, then please, tell me how I might help you.” If Byleth was truly a traitor, then he would accept the Sword of the Creator embedded in his back. Such an end would silence the voices just as well as Edelgard’s head would. 

Byleth remained silent for a long while, and when he spoke, he spoke weakly. Pleadingly. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Dimitri expected that to be the last thing he would hear. Byleth would rise and unsheath his blade and his head would roll into a patch of forget-me-nots like some sick poem. Or the overgrown structure would alight in flames as an Imperial soldier Byleth had let in cast his spell. Or he would cough and spit up blood, his heart stuttering from poison Byleth had laced into an earlier meal. Despite the rage and betrayal bubbling up within his gut, he wanted to accept the apology. 

Yet, nothing happened. Byleth remained in his arms, apology after apology spilling from his mouth. Apologies for something Dimitri didn’t get to know had been done. “I cannot forgive you if I do not know what it is you are apologizing for, Byleth…” 

The grip tightened on his hand. Dimitri could feel Byleth’s nails dig into his skin. “I’m sorry for abandoning you.”

Abandon? 

“But you are right here. I know I was skeptical in the beginning, but I believe you when you say you were asleep all those years. That was not abandonment.”

“Not then. I abandoned you. I kept abandoning you, and everyone.” As Byleth’s voice became more frantic, more nonsense spilling out, Dimitri only grew more confused. Fear of betrayal became fear for Byleth’s mental state. Had he worked himself to insanity?

Dimitri tried to make sense of the rambling, digging out repressed memories. When Byleth had run after his father’s murderer? When he had been trapped in that void? But he returned then, hardly abandonment. Were there times he had left his classmates on the battlefield alone and Dimitri hadn’t noticed? No, no of course not. His eyes had always been drawn to the black-cloaked figure, and that figure had always been there. So when did Byleth speak of?

Dimitri began, speaking as gently as he could muster. “Byleth, I do not understand what you mean. You have not abandoned me.”

“I let you die.”

The single sentence was spoken clearer than anything before it, yet Dimitri understood not a word of it. He was not given a chance parse together a response when Byleth continued, face pale and eyes staring at something other than the glass ceiling above them. 

“I fought you on Gronder Field under the banner of the Alliance. It was Hilda who told me the first time. She said your body had been pierced by dozens of Imperial spears. I watched it happen the second time.”

“Byleth, that is impossible, and even if it was, no one was killed during the Battle of Eagle and Lion.” He tried to speak clearly and slowly, as if that would get through to the professor seemingly going mad in his arms. “The war had not yet started, and you had never lead the Golden Deer into battle during our time in the Academy.” It felt foreign to speak so candidly of the past, for the past was very much off limits in normal conversation. But this was not a normal conversation. 

“I let the Adrestrian Empire consume all of Fódlan. I watched as Edelgard killed you.” His eyes were wide. “I looked you in the eyes on the battlefield and let her slaughter you.”

Byleth could feel the figure under him tense. “Professor, that is not a funny thing to joke about.” Dimitri forced his voice to remain level. To remain calm, unthreatening, the voice of a proper human. “You are speaking like a madman. You have only ever fought with the Blue Lions. The only war banner you have fought under was that of the Church of Seiros. You have never fought alongside Claude or Edelgard in battle. Only myself, and our friends.” The last bit stumbled out of his mouth. Just a mistake. A mental hiccup. 

Byleth looked him dead in the eye, his face and body rigid. It was the body of someone ready for an attack. 

“You watched me tear a hole in the sky, Dimitri, and you believed it to be real.”

“I did. I saw it with my own eyes.”

There was a long pause, and a long look into pleading eyes.

“Then will you believe me when I tell you that I can tear apart time?”

\---

Byleth’s knowledge came slowly at first. The two had moved out of the sticky man-made humidity of the greenhouse, settling in the library. Byleth had spoken of his Divine Pulse on the way, his breath coming out in foggy puffs as he spoke of impossibilities in the late winter weather. He spoke of the day they had met, of how he had almost been cleaved in two to save the woman he was currently trying to kill, and how he turned back time to save his life and hers. 

And he spoke of how much further he could turn back that time, and how he would only remember it all after that first stupid, selfless act. 

He kept speaking, even as Dimitri sat silent, the light of the crackling fire reflecting off an unreadable face. 

Byleth spoke of everything before he could get himself to stop. Of the Golden Deer, of the Black Eagles, of the Church of Seiros. Of Those Who Slither In The Dark. Of who he is, of who Sothis is, of who Seiros and Cichol and Cethleann are, of Crests and Crest Stones and Ancient Relics. Of what had become of Dimitri when he chose to teach a different class. Of what will come of Dimitri in this future. The Blue Lions will reunite on the day of the Millenium Festival. Dedue is alive. Rodrigue will die. Edelgard was not responsible for Duscur. You will want to save her. You will fail. She will die. 

He spoke of everything he knew, every world coming out in a frightened tumble from his lips. He spoke and he accepted at any moment the image of Dimitri standing up and walking out. Leaving him with a flourish of blue velvet out the door, never to speak to him again. Maybe to get a horse and ride to Enbarr, or to return to his place in the Cathedral. 

He accepted another outcome, too. An outcome where Dimitri picked up his lance from where it rested against the library bookshelves, and sent it into Byleth’s heart before he ever had a chance to Divine Pulse back to before he told him everything. An outcome where Dimitri’s hands would coil around his neck once more and Byleth wouldn’t stop him because it might be for the best for everyone if he was gone. An outcome where his students could be safe from time being turned back once again, another tragic play with the same actors.

Instead, as Byleth finally fell silent, Dimitri remained. His single eye had closed, his hands resting politely in his lap. He mouth curved downwards into a slight, concentrating frown. He played the part of the pensive king convincingly. 

“I believe you.”

Byleth wasn’t sure what emotion surged through him. But he wasn’t sure anyone would have known. Some emotions are too complicated, too equally positive and negative to be given a name.

Dimitri continued, his eye opening just enough for a sliver of blue to peek through his lashes, looking down at the table between them. “That is not the story of a madman. And…” Byleth could hear his hands fidget in his lap, the leather of his gloves rubbing against each other. “I suppose I was always seeing hints of it. But I had believed your excuses.”

Their eyes met for a moment before Byleth’s flicked away. Dimitri offered further explanation, speaking low despite having the room to themselves. “You knew where to go when you awoke, even though it was not the date we had promised to meet. You were not surprised to find me there. You hesitated to shoot that deer as you held a bow stance identical to Claude’s. You defeated me in battle with an axe, swung the same way she had swung hers in the mock battles. The war plans I have seen on your desk speak of soldiers we shouldn’t have, against enemies that aren’t Adrestrian. You always knew what to do and say to elicit the best reactions from me, from everyone you spoke to. I thought it was perceptiveness. I was not aware it was routine.” His lips curved, frown twisting to a bitter smile. “You knew my favorite tea without need for me to tell you.”

The sound of sliding metal resonated around the room, as Dimitri unsheathed the dagger that had made its home on his hip. He laid it on the table. The blade glowed orange as it reflected the flames sputtering out in the fireplace. 

“I had planned to kill Edelgard with this. I thought it fitting. A parting gift from the both of us.”

Byleth stared at the dagger, and he missed Dimitri’s gaze raise to look at his face. 

“I believe you. I do not yet understand it, but I believe everything you have told me. But if I am to believe everything, then tell me, Professor…”

Byleth looked up to see a broken man staring back at him. Broken and hurt and confused and lost. 

“You are having me relive a hell you tell me I have already suffered through many times. One where I am seeking revenge on the wrong person, for people, some of whom may still be alive.” He looked back at the dagger wearily, as his shoddily constructed reality came crashing around him. He looked back at Byleth.

“If I am to believe you, Professor. Then what kind of path did you intend for me to cut with this dagger?” The resentment dripped from his voice, as every lie and misjudgement came to the surface of his memory.

“And what kind of game have you convinced yourself you are playing?”

As they sat in silence, neither the professor nor the prince could hear the voices floating from the entrance of Garreg Mach.


	18. An Almost Full Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those tags in my fic finally make sense now yaaaaaay. 
> 
> I'll be going to Tokyo this Sunday with a friend, so if there's a particularly long gap between updates, that's why. But I'm gonna try to get one more update out before then. Maybe I'll write it on the bus there, haha. There may also be a longer pause coming in the future, because I'd really like to finish my Black Eagles run before I get too much further. I don't want to spoil myself on anything, but I don't want to end up messing up canon lore because I'm missing pieces. But I'll probably let you know when to expect that!

_“Professor!”_

The discordant chorus of voices almost knocked him off his feet before the collection of bodies running into him did. Having just rounded the corner, following the sounds of footsteps echoing about the monastery entrance hall, Byleth hadn’t had the time to brace himself. First was the hard collision of riding armor and a heavy blue Faerghus trench coat, then the softer embrace of a young priestess, then a bubbly ginger tripping her way into the three of them. 

It was overwhelming, despite its predictability. 

“Oh no I’m so sorry Professor—Mercie, Ashe too, are you alright?” Annette offered frantic apologies as she sprung off the pile of bodies she created. 

Mercedes responded with a characteristically gentle chuckle, also prying herself from where she was sandwiching Ashe and her old teacher. “Perhaps we should have given him a moment of space.” A couple voices expressed their agreement, one exasperated and feminine, the other low and wholly unamused.

Ashe, on the other hand, failed to take Mercedes’ suggestion and remained attached to Byleth’s torso, eyes already beginning to sparkle with relieved tears. “It’s been years, we’ve been in the middle of a war,” Ashe started, justifying his own clinginess. “Can you really blame us for being excited?”

“Being excited doesn’t justify breaking his ribs, buddy.” The weight on Byleth’s chest was removed as Sylvain plucked Ashe off of him. In a moment, Byleth was just one man staring up at a collection of young, tired, and heart wrenchingly hopeful faces. 

Byleth hadn’t realized how utterly unprepared he was for this moment. The one and only other time this reunion had taken place, it had been on a battlefield. And it had been before half a dozen repetitions of war, back when the goal was nothing more than staying alive. 

Whatever emotion was coursing through Byleth’s mind must have showed itself on his face, because Mercedes’ face bunched into concern after a moment of silence. “I’m sorry, Professor, you must be so surprised…” She knelt down to his level, taking his hand in her small ones. A part of him regretted his gloves, he was certain Mercedes’s hands were comfortingly warm, and comfort was something he desperately needed even if it wasn’t something he deserved. She guided him back up to a standing position, keeping a steady hand under his elbow. “Ashe, Ingrid, maybe you should explain what brought us here..?” 

Byleth finally allowed his eyes to do a proper scan of the students in front of him. They were what he expected, mostly. There were bits of uncanny differences, a gentle reminder that they were all there at the wrong time. Mercedes’s hair was cut even shorter, still settling into the bob she normally wore under her veil. Annette hadn’t yet given up tying her increasingly long locks into fun knots; at the moment, settling on two braids. Ashe seemed to be waiting on one last growth spurt, still falling short of Felix’s height. Ingrid and Sylvain had a handful of small scars that had yet to fade on their cheeks and leave room for new ones. Everyone’s clothes missed a bit of armor or a bloodstain that had yet to be splattered. 

But those eyes were all the same. Eyes that had seen too much suffering, unique to each set, yet had not yet lost their light. There was still fighting spirit and the desire to see a peaceful end, much unlike the violent glow he’d grown used to seeing on Dimitri’s face. 

Dimitri. Where was he? He’d left him in the library, after the prince requested a moment alone. When would he hear the commotion, how will he react—

Ashe’s voice popped up and halted Byleth’s increasingly anxious thoughts. “Well, it was Ingrid who first messaged me asking about seeing the Professor…” His green eyes passed from Byleth to meet Ingrid’s, who continued the explanation.

“At the market, back in the first weeks of the Ethereal Moon,” Ingrid offered, her hands wringing together. “I was seeking someone out at the border at the request of an official, and you ran into me. At first, I thought I had been seeing things, but…” She shook her head, a determined expression stealing her face. “I was certain it was you. No one’s eyes glow that bright. And it would make sense that you would be trying to hide your identity, and would remain near the monastery. A mercenary like you wouldn’t have a proper home to return when the war began, after all. It all made sense, really…” Her eyes flicked away from Byleth for a moment, her hands returning to wringing, a mental debate over whether or not to continue playing out on her face. “...Save for why you would be hiding away in the first place.”

A tangible tension hung over the group after those words, while Ashe attempted to ease it. “Ingrid and I had already been passing letters before then, you know. Neither of us are particularly influential back home, so we weren’t as closely monitored as Sylvain or Felix or—” His voice stumbled, and he struggled to put himself back on track. The others shifted, mentally filling in the name while Byleth remained ignorant. “It wouldn’t be weird for me to receive a message from her, so that’s how I found out.”

Felix’s gruff voice finally sounded out, more a mutter than an active addition to the conversation. “And you were the one dumb enough to message Garreg Mach, like the Empire wasn’t watching it like hawks.” Eagles would be more apt, Felix. Byleth kept the thought to himself. 

Ingrid gave her friend a sharp elbow in the ribs while Sylvain smoothed out the conversation once again. “And it all worked out, we all managed to reunite.” It was impressive how the war failed to damage such a stunning smile. “We all managed to message each other, difficult as it was. Set a nondescript day to meet, those of us who needed to gave our excuses.”

Annette piped up from where she stood at Mercedes’ side, “We thought that would be better than when we originally planned to meet, actually. Even if it’s probably not going to happen, the Millenium Festival is an awful conspicuous time to meet.” She rocked back on her heels, practically thinking aloud. “If anyone from the Empire really is watching the monastery like Felix says, I think more eyes would be on it then than at any other time.”

That… May actually be true, Byleth realized. It hadn’t been something he’d considered, but the enemy always did seem to find them quickly after his reunions. He had assumed it was because a significant bunch of nobles had all left their stations, he hadn’t stopped to consider the time they’d left specifically. If that earns them time to plan before battle instead of merely speeding up this war by a year, then this pit growing in Byleth’s stomach may just have no reason to be there.

That is, if the fear of war is what’s causing it. 

Byleth felt a squeeze, Mercedes looking up at him expectantly. Had she said something? 

“Are you going to stand there and stare like a dead fish, or answer the woman?” He could always count on Felix to snap him back to the cold reality they all lived in.

“I…” Byleth struggled, the sound of his voice resonating odd to him after the chatter of all his students. “Apologies, Mercedes. I was lost in thought, this is all a bit. Overwhelming.” He looked down at her, returning the hand squeeze. “Would you say it again?”

An understanding smile replaced her concerned face, urging Byleth to relax. “I only asked if you were happy to see us again, Professor. Sudden, yes, but I think we all shared a moment of great hope when we’d been told you were alive.” 

“Even Felix seemed excited to get here when we met up!” Annette grinned, sticking her tongue out in a playful gesture at the somehow-further-scowling noble. Sylvain gave Felix a hearty pat on the back to add on to the teasing, which only earned him a hard stomp to the foot. His hiss of pain was covered up by poorly muffled giggling from his companions. 

It was one of those moments. Byleth had learned to cling to those moments when he found himself in wartime. Cling to moments where the young soldiers around him were students again, when the only war they participated in was which house could clear out the dining hall menu the fastest. 

It was almost always the Blue Lions, for the record. With or without Byleth’s insatiable appetite. 

His Blue Lions. Back, and smiling, full of hope for the future now that their Professor was there to lead the six of them to it. Only six, as far as those lions were concerned. And none of them knew how to bring up the matter to their blissfully ignorant leader. 

It was Ingrid who tried. Ever the practical one, she knew Byleth would need to know sooner rather than later. She broached the question with utmost hesitancy in her voice. “Um, Professor…” 

Byleth cut her off, expecting the wrong question. He’d prepared a response to her earlier concern, not for an obituary reading. “You’re still curious about why I was hiding here, yes?” 

Annette looked physically relieved that the impending subject had been diverted. “More like how long you’ve been here, Professor! Where did you get this from?” She snuck around Mercedes to plop against Byleth’s back with a giggle, feeling the fur cloak that had made it’s permanent place in Byleth’s daily ensemble. He’d forgotten it was ever unusual for him to wear. 

“Well, it was a—”

“And your hair!” The ginger mage exclaimed, reaching up to fidget with stray strands at the bottom. “It’s gotten longer!”

It has? Byleth’s hand instinctively moved to feel the ends of his hair, which were starting to fall against his shoulder, nearly reaching Dimitri’s length. It had happened so slowly, he hadn’t noticed. His hair didn’t grow during his multi-year sleep, and when the war kicked up he typically kept it trimmed. Perhaps it was Dimitri’s general indifference to grooming rubbing off on him, Byleth just hadn’t been bothered to cut it. 

“Well I… I can’t say for sure, but I’ve been here for about eight months? I think?”

Ashe giggled to himself, “Professor, no wonder you could never tell us your age! You really are terrible at keeping track of time.”

“Only eight months? It’s been nearly four years since Garreg Mach fell,” Sylvain countered. “I don’t mean to pry here, but what were you doing that whole time? Sleeping?”

“Yes.”

Grunts of confusion rang around the hall as Byleth once again was forced to explain his situation. This part, at least, had become rote. “When we were trying to defend the monastery, I had been hit by a stray attack that had sent me off a cliff. I…” Byleth frowned a little bit, the anxiety welling back in his gut. Normally he would leave it at sleeping. An injury induced coma. But he needed to tell them, too. “...I will explain in more detail, later. It’s too long of a story to be had in the middle of a hallway.” The expressions around him only grew more confused. “All you need to know right now is that I can stop time, but I cannot start it very well. When I ‘woke up’, it was three years in the future.”

“O-oh,” Was all Ingrid could respond with.

“I guess that’s not the most unbelievable thing to do with you,” Sylvain tacked on, trying to process the information, same as the rest. 

“But that means you didn’t abandon us, right?” The hesitant conclusion was offered by Ashe, who continuously glanced over at the others for confirmation. 

There’s that word again. Abandon. Byleth really hated that word.

“Of course not, Ashe,” Byleth responded. “And I knew you all would return at some point like we promised.” Just not this early. 

The relief on the group’s faces was fleeting. Felix had had enough sidestepping of the elephant in the room. His voice cut through the brief silence like one of his beloved swords.

“Pretty callous of you to say we all returned, when the boar and Dedue are dead.” 

Each student visibly stiffened, Sylvain and Ingrid in particular. Heads whipped around to face Felix, who stayed scowling at Byleth, arms crossed and not a hint of pity in his eyes. Byleth looked back in confusion, having forgotten that his students’ reality was far different than his own. 

Before Byleth could respond, Ashe stammered out, “We don’t know that for sure about Dedue, Felix! We just have no way of contacting him, and—”

“The boar was executed, what makes you think his loyal dog wouldn’t end up going with him.”

Ingrid’s hushed voice barely broke through, exhausted, with the ghost of heartbreak hanging on it. “Stop calling him that.” The request was met with a scornful huff, while the rest watched for Byleth’s reaction.

Mercedes offered another comforting squeeze of the hand. “I’m sorry, we didn’t know if you knew… And if you were asleep for so long, then surely you must not have heard what’s been happening in Faerghus.” Mercedes’s breath hitched in her throat as she did her best to maintain composure. “I’m so sorry, Professor…”

Byleth was still attempting to figure out how to tell them when heavy footsteps sounded out from the nearby room. It was impressive how quickly his students reacted. Within seconds, swords and lances were drawn from hips and backs, Ashe had already knocked an arrow, Mercedes had left Byleth’s side to stand with Annette, whose hand was already raised in preparation to launch a devastating spell. Years of battle worn reflexes in display, while Byleth scrambled to calm them. “Wait, wait everyone it’s not an enemy—”

He may as well have said nothing, his assurances drowned up by a horrified scream from Ashe, his face so pale you might have thought he’d seen a ghost. He may as well have. Ingrid’s lance fell from her hands in shock, steel clattering against the stone. Sylvain took a step back, Felix took a step forward. His sword stayed raised. Annette’s pale green eyes were wide to match her best friend’s expression. Mercedes’ raised a hand to her mouth, the softest mutter escaping her lips and hanging in the hall.

“Oh no…” 

Dimitri stood in the entranceway, frozen mid-fighting stance. His lance was raised, having been prepared for the removal of the new horde of rats from his home. Now, it no longer threatened to come flying towards them. He stood silently, swaying, his icy eye wide in shock. The others were too startled by the menacing fur-cloaked figure to see the pure fear creeping into his face. Byleth was fully aware of it, forcing him to step forward, his hands raised in that disarming kind of way. In the way some would approach a dangerous animal. The image was not lost on the students, despite their stupor. 

“It’s alright, Dimitri. You’re alright, it’s just your friends.” 

That may have been the wrong thing to say. Before Byleth even had the chance to take his hand and pretend as if nothing an hour before had ever happened, he had already turned tail. His cape billowed out behind him, blue wings carrying him away from all the terrible things that came packaged with old faces. Just as quickly as he arrived, he had fled back into the shadows of the monastery, scampering away to cower alone. 

It was a stark contrast from the very first reunion Byleth could remember, when it was his students shrinking away from the prince, snarling blood-thirsty snarls overtop a pile of bodies. 

“He’s alive.” Annette was the first one to break the stunned silence with the simplest of revelations. Byleth turned back to her, and answered with a silent nod. 

“‘Alive’ seems debatable. He looked...” Sylvain struggled to find a gentle way to word “feral”. “I know he wasn’t doing great in the head when we left him, but that doesn’t even look like the same person.” Maybe it wasn’t, and their professor had simply gone mad too. Tried to replace the student everyone with half a brain and working eyes knew was his favorite with some stranger.

Ingrid shook her head, still stunned. “Is that why they refused to show the public his body? He escaped and they lied about it?” Byleth nodded again, retreating back to the silence he found natural and comfortable. He had learned how to emote with Dimitri, not with them. It would take a little time yet. “Is that why you’ve stayed in the monastery?”

“He needed someone by his side.” A matter-of-fact response, given it was the truth. 

Mercedes looked past Byleth to the halls behind him, where Dimitri had fled. “Perhaps he could use that someone right now.” Offering a sympathetic smile, she gestured to the rest of the group. “It has been almost four years, and it was not a happy parting we all had. For so many of us to turn up unannounced, it must be terribly overwhelming.”

Byleth glanced back over his shoulder, his reluctance showing far too clearly to avoid notice. “I think it would be best to give him space for the time being.” It was not as if my presence was comforting him earlier, Byleth figured. He would need time to think, thinking about far too many world shattering things to be thought about in the presence of the world-shatterer. 

Byleth sucked in a breath. There were more important things to speak on. Having to force out his grand list of time-bending war crimes a second time felt like a task worse than death, but it was one he hadn’t the luxury of delaying like he had before. “And regardless, there are things I need to speak to you all about, if you’ll allow me.”

\---

“So, let me get this straight,” Sylvain’s gestured his hand about lazily, slumped against the desk. His eyes, like all the rest, were heavy from exhaustion—both physical and mental. “You’re saying we have, at best, a year to try and stop a war that you’ve spent how many years trying and failing to stop?”

“And if we don’t, we’ll have to kill our old friends.” Annette tugged on a braid, the anxiety making her jittery. “And Felix’s dad might die?” 

Mercedes’ religiously devout head was held in increasingly weak hands. “We’d been attending school with saints and one of them used you to try and resurrect her mother, who is also the goddess.” Her identity crisis was visible even from Byleth’s spot at the front of the dilapidated Blue Lion’s classroom, leaning up against his old desk and leaving tracks in the dust where his hands rested. 

“And instead of fighting Edelgard, we actually need to be fighting a secret ancient society,” Ashe’s weak voice slipped from his mouth. His eyes were still red and puffy, remnants of relieved sobs after Byleth revealed Dedue still lived. “Not to mention Nemesis, the King of Liberation, who has been resurrected and is apparently a bad guy?”

Ingrid hung her head back, staring at the cobwebs hung about the ceiling. “I am beginning to understand how Dimitri is feeling. “Overwhelmed” may be an understatement, Professor.”

Irritated tapping sounded next to her, where Felix was repeatedly drumming his fingers against the adjacent desk. “And you didn’t tell us any of this four years ago, when we could have actually done something about it.”

Byleth’s stomach had long since permanently knotted itself into a neat little bow, but that last cold comment managed to sink it ever lower. “I couldn’t guarantee your safety if I told you.”

“You can control time.” Felix put a hand on the sword on his hip, gritting his teeth. “I could send this sword into my own chest and the next time I blinked I would be sitting here perfectly well.”

“This is more than resetting a single wound,” Byleth countered. “I do not know if I have been trying to fight fate itself, I couldn’t get you all mixed up in that—”

“So instead you’ve been treating us like pawns!” Felix stood, slamming his palms on the desk and startling his comrades. His voice raised in a snarl, more composed than the ones Byleth had heard from the prince, but far colder and unrelenting. “You’re as bad as the boar! You think you can change the world all on your own if you just take the right people out of it!” His hands slammed down in time with his argument. “You didn’t tell us because you were worried for our safety, you lied to us because you’re _scared_. You’re nothing more than an arrogant coward!”

Ingrid’s voice cut through, commanding. “Felix, that’s enough.” 

“Emotions are high right now, but I’m sure we can talk this through,” Mercedes offered, struggling to maintain her usual even, tender tone.

_“We trusted you.” _

Felix’s hiss of betrayal hung in the classroom, silencing the rest of the Blue Lions, as they turned to their old professor. Their old mentor, the one who lead them into battle and eased their wounds back off of it. Their old friend, more than anything. 

Byleth stood rigid, six pairs of eyes boring into his soul. What was there to say. No apology would do them justice. No promises of coming peace would be believable. No amount of begging would would make them forget about all of this. 

He could turn it all back again. He could start over. One more time, where maybe he’d just let that axe stay buried in his back. 

Byleth’s eyes fell to the ground, no longer able to take any more broken gazes. “I don’t need you to trust me. I just need you to believe what I have told you.”

“I mean…” Sylvain gave a half-hearted shrug, not fond of the crushing atmosphere his dear friend constructed for them all. “You have glowing green hair and a mythical sword. If you told me you could turn into a dragon too I’d ask if I could hitch a ride sometime.” The others nodded in agreement, save for the man fuming at his desk.

Byleth wrung his hands together, the leather of his gloves sticking to his palms. He’d been sweating so badly today. “I never really wanted to be your teacher, you know. I agreed because that’s what Rhea told me to do, and my Father didn’t whisk us away immediately afterwards, so I didn’t have much of a choice.” He forced his head up, making eye-contact with a pair of golden-brown eyes looking at him with more contempt than any real foe ever had. “You don’t have to trust me, because I’m not here to give you orders anymore. All I want is to fight beside you, like I should have been doing from the beginning.”

“You don’t deserve to.”

“I don’t,” Byleth conceded. “I don’t deserve to get what I want. But I think some people deserve to live. And some others deserve to get to find happiness, even if they don’t think they deserve it themselves. And Fódlan deserves a proper peace, not a tentative one while unchecked tensions simmer because the winners didn’t know they existed to begin with.”

Byleth took a slow breath, raising from where he’d been slumped against his desk. “It is your decision now, what to do with the information I have given you, if you truly believe it. Your choices are your own, this run. If your choice is to have me stay, my blade is yours. If you wish for me to leave, then you will never see me again.” He gave a pained, forced smile. An uncanny image that didn’t fit on his face for many of the students watching it form. “I am sure Dimitri would prefer the latter at this moment, so I would not blame you for feeling the same.” Byleth stepped away from his desk, adjusting the fur resting on his shoulders. “Please, consider it for a while.”

Felix's eyes followed him as Byleth stalked to the entrance of the classroom, the suspicion fighting with mild confusion and curiosity. “And where exactly are you going after all of that?”

“I am to go lion hunting for some time. I would appreciate some nice flowers at my funeral, if nothing else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, please bare with me writing everyone's dialogue. :"D I'm still getting a feel on everyone's speech patterns and personalities and whatnot. It's fun finally having some variety away from Dimi and Byleth though.


	19. A Little Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy it's been busy and rough lately. Thanks everyone for being patient with me, apologies for the slightly shorter chapter. I'm looking forward to next chapter, it'll be nice and fluffy I promise.

Byleth had expected to find him anywhere else. The Cathedral, The Goddess Tower, atop a steed in the stables ready to flee from the monastery. 

It was on a whim that Byleth checked the second floor dorms, most remaining nothing more than a den for dust bunnies. All save for one, where the bunnies scattered to make room for a larger and far more anxious beast, leaving trails of powder floating aimlessly back into place. 

Byleth considered knocking, but it would be silly to think Dimitri didn’t hear him coming. Instead, he stood at the threshold, his figure only partially eclipsed by a door falling apart at the behest of insects and weather and too many frantic slams that splintered the wood at the hinges. He waited for permission, like a good professor would. 

“Are you not going to enter?” Dimitri didn’t look up, the rough voice creeping out behind a curtain of blonde. His attention was focused more intently on the dagger in his hands, black fingers sliding slowly up and down the engraved blade. His lance was propped against the same bed he propped himself against. Either he found the ground more comfortable, or his newly added weight would crumble the ancient bed boards. Was there any added weight, really? He was taller, but still deceptively skinny. Perpetually sickly. Relying on cold eyes and harsh words to intimidate in its place. 

Those harsh words work just as well. Byleth made no move to come closer.

“I’m waiting for your permission.”

“I didn’t give you permission to enter my life, and yet you continue to waltz into it whenever it suits your fancy.”

Byleth let the biting remark hang in the air. Better it pollute the air than an already too-cramped mind, he would figure. And again, he deserved it. If it would ease anything at all, he would stand at the door and take whatever barrage of hate Dimitri had to give him, just as he would for the rest of the students gathered downstairs. 

Dimitri had no barrage at the ready, though. And a silence heavy enough to be cut through with the dagger in his hands was no more pleasant. He gave Byleth a grunt, and a glance. From him, to the floor across from him. Byleth accepted the young prince’s silent command, and sat. 

“It’s frustrating.”

Byleth nodded. He had done too much speaking today. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to do any more. 

“I should hate you.”

Another nod. His bangs fell into his eyes, shielding the ever-darkening circles. He was due for a trim.

“You could have stopped all this from happening. You could have stopped me from becoming,” Dimitri hesitated, his voice oozing disdain as he pointed the tip of his dagger at himself. Situated somewhere in the vague direction of his throat, in a way that Byleth didn’t care for. “From becoming this.” 

Byleth didn’t know whether or not to nod. He didn’t know if he could have stopped it. He didn’t know anything anymore, other than how much he wanted to go back to sleep for a very long time. 

The conflict must have read on his face, because Dimitri suddenly didn’t care to look at it. “Maybe you couldn’t have stopped it, at least without killing me before it happened. Maybe that would have solved your little game.” He returned his dagger to its resting position. His thumb rested against the tip, a little challenge of leather versus steel. 

Byleth shook his head. Never again.

“It certainly would have saved you and Edelgard some time, yes?”

Byleth’s expression hardened. Another shake of the head. 

Dimitri looked up from his hands, squinting at the professor in front of him. “You really believe having me live this life is the ideal ending for you? That spending the rest of my time on this earth trying to wash my hands of innocent blood is your storybook ending?”

A head shake, and the softest voice. It was raspy, strained from overuse, and from the desire to scream and cry. A foreign desire and an even more foreign feeling. “I watched that ending, and it was what forced my hand the first time.”

“Explain.” Short and curt and full of distrust.

Byleth hadn’t told him much of his first run, past the war’s conclusion. Who married who was superfluous information. Or maybe he just didn’t want to think about it. “You spent your entire life trying to atone for those crimes. You told me again and again that it could have been different, that if you had been a better man you could have saved more lives. Edelgard wouldn’t have had to die.” His eyes travelled to the shadows in the room, imagining all the faces hovering over Dimitri’s shoulder, whispering cruel thoughts into his ears. “You spent the remainder of your life haunted by different ghosts. You told me you would live for yourself, but you lied. Just like you lied to me about how you lost your eye.”

Dimitri frowned, Byleth continued. “I was your best friend, your confidant, and the first person to find you at your desk, after you worked yourself to an early grave.”

He remembered now. He had turned back time that very morning. In all honesty, he rationalized it after the fact. Grief makes you do funny things.

“You went back because of me.” Dimitri’s face would have been unreadable had his cheeks not paled. The guilt surged in swifter than any breeze rattling the clouded window. 

“I went back because I was selfish.” Byleth responded, quick and strong and ready to drown out the chorus of blame echoing in the prince’s head. “I went back because I wasn’t ready to let go of my best friend. And I kept going back because I wasn’t ready to let go of anyone.” The words that had built up in his brief moments of silence now threatened to spill out in an avalanche. “My entire life was spent with my father and a goddess and I lost them both. But then I found myself given you. All of you. Everyone in the monastery, and suddenly I had people I could care about and people that made me feel things the same way those two people did. I lost my dad and I lost Sothis but fate can’t take away my friends too.” Byleth felt a warm pressure behind in his eyes the same as the one prying his mouth open. “I’m selfish and I wanted to keep everyone and I was too scared to tell them why because I don’t know how to talk and I don’t know how to feel things right but I know how to win a fight so I figured that would be enough.” 

Byleth could feel his voice quiver, and it made him sick to his stomach. The quivering worsened the blurrier his vision got, Dimitri’s face contorting into nothing more than blobs of blue and gold. “I wanted to give everyone a happy life. You are all so good and kind and better people than I will ever be no matter how many lives I live.” He had begun to believe that those mercenaries dubbing him a demon was more accurate than any insult directed at Dimitri had been, but what a pathetic demon he was now, sobbing at the Prince of Faerghus on a dirty floor with his knees pulled up to his chest and his divine green hair collecting snot and plastering to his wet cheeks. “All I wanted was for you to be happy and I tortured you because of it. I let you suffer because I was selfish, because I was lonely.” Pathetic. So disgustingly pathetic. 

The sound he made when a rough grip tugged him forward was pathetic too, a startled whimper muffled as his face fell against fur that almost matched the pelt Dimitri’s hands kept a firm grip to. He was held there, contorted in a painful position against hard metal plates and a harder hold, one large hand stroking the back of his head with all the delicateness of a drunk wyvern. Dimitri had almost managed to startle Byleth out of his sobbing. Almost. Instead, the fur around his neck collected tears as Byleth tugged on the fabric of Dimitri’s cape, while the prince carefully held him away from the dagger he’d set to the side. 

“It’s frustrating. I really should hate you. I should despise you. I should never forgive you.” 

Byleth wanted to drown out those words with his cries, but Dimitri was too close. Too, too close. Always too close, or too far away. 

“I can’t hate you.” Another sob. “No matter how badly I think I should, I can’t.” Another. “I can’t hate you, Byleth.” Another, loud and distraught. 

“It’s frustrating that I’m still madly, pathetically in love with you.”

\---

It was a while before the sobbing stopped. In one day Byleth had managed to let out decades’ worth of tears, all of which refused to dry off that pelt, but Dimitri didn’t seem to mind. He focused on running his fingers soothingly through Byleth’s hair, careful not to let the claw-like tips dig too hard against his scalp. He stared at the wall, occasionally shifting Byleth on his lap to keep his legs from falling asleep, and saying not a word. He didn’t really know what words to say after that. 

Byleth focused on steadying his breathing again, watching aimless teardrops roll off his cheek and down the armor he rested against, falling into the groves cut by errant swords and axes. He wished that armor would go away. How warm and soft the prince would be otherwise. But that was a warmth he didn’t deserve, and it left an uncomfortable pit in his stomach.

Was this how Dimitri felt every time Byleth took to comforting him? The impulse to rip away from warmth for one’s own self-inflicted punishments? It was terribly isolating. A frightening, lonely feeling. 

Dimitri understood what it was like to fear loneliness. And he understood better than anyone the terrible things fear can drive a good man to do. 

“It is funny,” The soft rumble of a voice came from somewhere behind Byleth’s head. “I cannot tell you the number of times I sat in this room, sobbing into whatever I could get my hands on sturdy enough to not snap in two, and fantasizing all the while that you would step in and hold me like this.” Byleth felt a pressure against his back as Dimitri stroked a thumb against its center. “That journal in your belt does not tell you the half of how madly I had fallen for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Byleth mumbled out against the black metal. 

“It was not as if you were courting me. It was my own foolish heart.”

“You deserve better.”

“I am a murderer. I am lucky to have anyone care for me at all.”

“I will never deserve you after what I’ve done.”

“Come now, you may be a fool yourself,” Dimitri chided, a soft lit to his voice. “But my Professor is no hypocrite.” Byleth felt the grip around him shift, a hand slipping under his chin to pull his gaze up. Byleth struggled to raise his eyes from the comfort of the floor, but the crisp blue was welcoming. Like a summer sky, the kind he would look up at through windows after the war, trapped in dull administrative meetings aside a bored Faerghus King. 

“If a beast like myself is allowed to seek out happiness, then you must believe yourself worth saving too.” 

Byleth had believed that. He had forced himself to, for Dimitri’s sake if not his own. Now the sentiment felt like a lie.

The young man continued, moving his hand to cup Byleth’s face. “And I will stay by your side for as long as it takes. If I remember correctly, a particularly kind teacher once offered me something similar.”

Byleth leaned his head in to the hand, out of instinct more than anything. “I don’t understand why you would stay with me now.”

“It is quite simple, Professor,” The thin smile that formed across Dimitri’s face pulled hard at Byleth’s heartstrings. Had he not already unleashed a deluge of tears, he might have started crying again. 

“In reality, I have actually been waiting for you to put your guard down, and take the chance to throw a bucket of cold bath water on you when your back is turned.” 

Byleth couldn’t help it. The weak giggle that squeaked from his mouth sounded like a broken children’s toy, but any remotely happy sound was music to both men’s ears. “You’re still mad about that?”

“Well, if my drive for revenge has been misplaced all these years, I am in need of filling the void. Mind yourself the next time you find yourself near the fishpond.” 

Another broken giggle was met with a breathy chuckle from Dimitri, weighed down by exhaustion. Even his joke held a bit of bitterness to it, but there was no use clinging to that bitterness right now. The prince wasn’t all that sure what he was supposed to be feeling at the moment, in all honesty. It had mostly been confusion. Confusion about the past, about his current purpose, about why Byleth had kept it all secret for so long, even if he could take a couple guesses as to how his own general demeanor would discourage world-altering upsetting news. And he was confused why he was so eager to forgive Byleth for everything. 

He knew Byleth had done wrong. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and Byleth was marching the entire monastery down it. Yet, only moments after Dimitri had sent Byleth out of the library, he had bitten back the urge to call back to him, to forgive him. 

He hadn’t considered himself quick to forgive. The grudge he had been nursing for almost his entire adolescence was one of the few constants in his life. But it wasn’t his own grudge, was it? It was one he held on behalf of the voices in his head. And maybe those voices were his and maybe they weren’t. It was confusing either way.

But he wanted to forgive Byleth. And according to his professor, he wanted to forgive Edelgard. He had tried to forgive her. He did. He did want to forgive her, more than anything. He wanted to know why, what happened, what had driven her to hurt others the same way he did, and then he wanted to forgive her. Maybe that was a bad mindset for a king to have, but he was an awfully terrible king already.

He just wanted to forgive the people he loved. And he loved his friends, the ones he was too scared to see as they milled about under his feet. He loved his step-sister, and he wanted to help rescue her the same way Byleth was helping him. 

And goddess, he loved Byleth. He loved Byleth, and he despised the way looking at his pale face was like looking in a mirror, and he despised how his raspy voice matched his perfectly. 

Byleth was more like him than he cared to admit. 

Dimitri felt thin arms wrap around his torso, hesitant and needy. Byleth’s face had lowered, returning to the cushion of his fur cape. His voice filtered out slowly, breaking through the growing silence of the young prince’s dusty room. 

“Thank you, Dimitri.” 

“Do not thank me for this, please,” Dimitri requested, the idea making him uncomfortable. Maybe there was something too definitive about it, too dismissive of all his complicated feelings. “Just promise me something.”

The professor shifted on his lap, his face moving enough for a single questioning eye to peer out between tufts of fur. 

“You will stay with us through whatever fights are waiting for us, without fleeing through time regardless of what happens. Stay by my side. _My_ side. Not the side of some replacement me. Share this life with me, and I promise I will not abandon you so soon into it.” 

Dimitri’s face had fallen low enough to nuzzle against Byleth’s, his breath heating up Byleth’s otherwise chilled cheeks. The feeling of ice stabbing into Byleth’s heart with every pang of lonely fear began to melt away. He could speak evenly, which was good. He wanted Dimitri to know that this, if nothing else, was the truth.

“I promise. This is my last life, and I intend to spend it with you.” 

The soft kiss planted on his cheek shot a shiver through Byleth that contrasted with all the heat enveloping him so pleasantly. He was suddenly aware of how tight the grip he’d found to be comfortingly secure had become. 

“You have friends downstairs awaiting your return, yes?” The question dripped reluctance once Dimitri finally managed to form it. Both men wanted to stay alone together for just a little while longer. 

“They’re waiting for you, too.”

“Well, you see,” Dimitri mumbled, hiding himself by burying his face against Byleth’s neck, eliciting another shiver from the professor. “I am a coward and am much too scared to go see them.”

His sigh echoed oddly against Dimitri’s ear, pressed up against Byleth’s throat. Byleth reached awkwardly around himself, finding the prince’s hand to squeeze. “Me too. That’s why I think we should go together. There’s power in numbers.” 

“It is two against six.”

“I never said we were going to win.”

“You are a terrible tactician, Byleth.”


	20. Banter of The Occasionally Friendly Variety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up being way longer than I thought it would, haha. By the way, I really, really appreciate all the comments from last chapter. I have a tendency to worry over whether or not folks will like updates for whatever reason, so your kind words are really encouraging. Even if I don't respond much at all, just know I read them all and I love you all for them. <3

“Dimitri, Dimitri _my hand_,” Byleth hissed as polite as possible through his teeth. 

The prince whipped his head over, nothing but a massive bundle of anxious jitters. “Come again?”

_“You’re crushing my hand,”_ he whined, attempting to pry his hand from Dimitri’s iron clamp. He was fairly certain the excited buzzing one gets from holding hands with their loved one was not supposed to be the result of having your circulation cut off. “I appreciate the hand holding but I would like to be able to keep it afterwards—”

Dimitri yanked back his hand, dropping his eye to the floor in shame. “My apologies.” Byleth promptly pulled it back, cupping it in his own gloves, guiding Dimitri’s gaze back with it. A few steps further would lead them into the courtyard facing the classrooms, the once sheer-cut grass growing tangled from lack of care. Landscaping was not high on Byleth’s list of priorities. He wondered if the hushed voices floating from around the corner would be willing to help with it. He wondered if they would stay. Or if they wanted him to stay. He wondered about a lot of things, and it brought a tremble to what was supposed to be an assuring hold for the man exuding panic in front of him. 

“I won’t run away,” Byleth reassured, voice low both to calm and to keep from catching anyone’s attention too early. “You needn’t be so afraid, Dimitri. I can promise you one thing, and it is that every one of the people in that room still care for you.”

Dimitri shook his head violently, tangled blonde smacking at his pale cheeks. He opened his mouth to begin, but Byleth cut him off with a knowing squeeze. 

“Don’t start with the ‘undeserving’ speech. You didn’t see the relief in their eyes when they saw you alive, if not well.” Byleth offered a smile, trying not to betray his own visceral fear building inside him. He watched Dimitri visibly relax, and marvelled for a moment at the power something as simple as a smile had over the prince. “They will come to terms with the man you’ve become in time, I’ve seen it happen before.” Byleth’s smile fell into a lopsided grin, and Dimitri seemed to only melt further, the fear falling from his face if only for a brief moment. “They love you almost as much as I do, you know. Even Felix, even if he wouldn’t admit it with a sword to his throat.”

Dimitri stooped, resting his forehead against Byleth’s, a silent thank you. “They love you too,” he responded, a deep voice forming a wavering whisper. “We all did. You never saw our hearts break when you were taken into that void. Or the words of admiration from the classroom after you had left.” Byleth felt a blush color his paling face as Dimitri planted a gentle kiss on his forehead before straightening again. “They cannot hate you any easier than I can.” 

The professor sucked in a breath, not eager to test Dimitri’s claim. “You are speaking of the past more easily.”

“I am about to look my past in the eye.” His own flicked to the side, flashes of paranoia causing it to cloud and clear at random. “In comparison, spoken word is nothing.” 

Byleth nodded, and forced himself into stepping onto the grassy opening, leading Dimitri with a tender tug. “I’m proud of you.” 

“Do not say that until after this day ends.”

“I am your professor, you can’t tell me what to do.”  
“Pardon? I believe Prince trumps Professor, _Professor_.”

The restlessness in his gut forced out a squeaky chuckle from Byleth, both men becoming unusually talkative out of fear. Too talkative to notice that the steady stream of whispers coming from the Blue Lions’ classroom had come to a halt. By the time they had dragged their grudging feet up to the threshold, six pairs of wide eyes were already staring in stunned silence. 

Byleth took another sharp breath, steeling himself for the worst. The difference in his confidence from before to now was striking with Dimitri at his side, but it was still admittedly below his preferred threshold. He could sense Dimitri himself go rigid as a board, but if it meant he was not on the verge of bolting then he would take that—

_“AIYEEYAGH—?!”_

He was so prepared to say something poised, refined, professorly. The inhuman screech of pain was not that. 

Byleth’s knees crumpled and his eyes watered, trying to sputter out his request to be released, but all that came out was a shrill babble. “DimitridimitrimyhandletgoofmyhaaAAAAAAND—!!” 

Dimitri was, at the very least, cognizant enough of his surroundings to recognize Byleth’s howling. He released Byleth’s now possibly shattered hand and jerked his own back to his side, clenching it once again to match his other side. He stood frozen save for his natural jerky swaying, caught between wanting to fall into frantic apologies and the instinct to remain emotionless and imposing in front of the six threatening pseudo-strangers and their soul-piercing gazes. The resulting combination left the six foot monster of a man looking like a deer in the headlights, wobbling next to his time travelling part-goddess professor moaning in pain as he curled in a heap on the wooden boards below them. 

It was Felix that started laughing first. 

He tried to cover it up, his fist brought to his mouth in a lame attempt to muffle, but within seconds his restrained snickering broke into real laughter. Although laced with mockery as it was, it was a laughter that caused a ripple effect through the rest of the Blue Lions. As concerned as they all were for the health of Byleth who was still busy writhing on the ground, the absurdity of the strongest person they knew squealing like a stuck pig while the second strongest looked seconds from passing out was too much. The needle thread tension snapped in a moment, and brought forth a barrage of giggles bouncing around the walls. 

Mercedes managed with the aid of Annette to contain her own tittering and rise from her seat, shuffling over and kneeling aside Byleth, coaxing his rapidly swelling hand away from his chest. As she set to healing her professor, the rest of the lions turned their attention to Dimitri. 

Sylvain coughed into his fist, forcing his breathing back to normal enough to speak. “That was a fitting entrance, buddy.” He flashed a knowing grin, taking a guess based on the distant bantering the class hard heard coming from outside. “Good to see you’re still as smooth as a bolder. Breaking your boyfriend’s hand isn’t as romantic as you might think it is.”

Ingrid had already risen from her seat the moment Sylvain began speaking, allowing her to pop him hard in the back of the head the moment the comment sprung from his mouth. _“That’s really going to be the first thing you say to him you idiot?”_ she hissed under her breath before turning back to the frozen prince, offering a familiar sympathetic smile. In all honesty, she was grateful for the laughter, and even for Sylvain’s idiocy. Without it, she may have burst into tears. “Forgive us, please. We may all be a little too shocked to see you to react properly. But,” Her voice teetered on the edge of breaking, but she was a strong knight and intended to keep it that way. “But it’s good to see you again, Dimitri.”

“Good? It’s incredible! He’s alive!” Ashe beamed, his eyes sparkling with less resistance to tears than his fellow knight-lover had. “Welcome back, Your Highness! Or, ah, I guess you’ve been here already so uh,” His voice trailed off awkwardly, hands clasped together and eyes darting to the others for assistance.

“You’ve grown,” Annette offered as a recovery. “You look like a real king! A king on the run, ready to take back his homeland. A real, super-scary, totally intimidating one,” she grinned, twisting Dimitri’s old injuries and general raggedness into a positive as her optimistic nature was want to do.

Mercedes hummed in agreement, her hands still lit by healing magic working to reset tiny bones back into place. “We’ve missed you all dearly.” Her soft eyes looked up from Byleth, the closest to Dimitri and close enough to see the way his eye had clouded and hear how his breathing hitched again and again. Her voice cooed, urging the young man to relax. “And we’re all so happy to see you again.”

“Speak for yourself, Mercedes.” 

“Hm.”

Mercedes turned back to see Felix’s arms crossed over his chest, stormy eyes staring straight at the rocking beast in the doorway. “I appreciate the karma he just gave the Professor, I guess. But don’t pretend like this is much of an improvement on being dead.” He gestured at Dimitri with a dismissive hand, which Dimitri hardly seemed to register. “Has the boar even heard a word anyone has said?”

He heard one word. A flash of pain and a darkening of an otherwise blank expression. 

The sound of boots scuffing the floor and a pained grunt pulled Felix’s attention for a moment, as Mercedes helped Byleth back onto his feet. “You should be directing your insults at me, Felix.” He kept his injured hand subtly out of Dimitri’s line of sight, the dark bruising making it look worse than it felt now. Mercedes was an angel, and more importantly, a prodigy of a healer. 

“Don’t pretend like he’s innocent. You expect me to believe that’s a sane man? That beast is any improvement on the one from four years ago? That _that_ is what you’ve been wasting your time on instead of helping us fight the war you knew was coming?”

Shut up, Felix. For your own sake, Byleth thought, his eyes darting again and again to the figure beside him. He didn’t want to make it obvious he was concerned about Dimitri snapping, falling back to aggression and anger. He didn’t want to reveal to the others he could even entertain the idea. But he had no idea where Dimitri was, mentally. This timeline had long since departed from what was familiar, as had the prince’s progression through trauma. Everyone was now unpredictable in a way that made Byleth apprehensive and twitchy. He was grateful Dimitri had progressed enough to agree to leaving his lance in a separate room. 

“I told you to direct your insults at me,” Byleth warned as Dimitri rocked so far to his right he almost bumped into Byleth’s shoulder. 

“Insults? They were honest questions based on observation, Professor. Now tell me, why have you been frolicking about the monastery with a madman?” Felix spit out the retort, while the others moved a little closer, urging him to calm. Mercedes stepped away from Byleth and back into the throng of classmates, serene on the surface but there was stiffness where she would normally glide from one spot to another. The tension had restrung itself, waiting to snap once more. 

How fitting, as Dimitri was very good at breaking things.

Before Byleth had the chance to react, to grab at his hand or his cape or anything with purchase, Dimitri had already slipped by him. He also slipped by Felix, the blue of his cape rippling past him, kicking up air that forced his raven black hair to shift. Seven pairs of eyes followed the prince’s back as he stalked with uneven steps to the Professor’s desk, fumbling about with drawers before procuring a couple sheets of yellowing paper and a pen that may or may not have ink to accompany it. The cluster of young adults watched as Dimitri settled to a spot in front of them, towering over the desk where Felix found himself in the middle of the group. 

“...Byleth said Dedue is still alive. Find a way to contact him.” Having been mostly focused on the paper he’d set down on the desk, it took a moment to wrench his eyes away and up to meet his old friend’s. “Make yourself useful.” His voice came out cold, as cold and short as it had when Byleth had first coaxed conversation out of Dimitri. “Insult me as you like.” One more voice added to the chorus wouldn’t make much of a difference. “Continue to insult Byleth and I will string you to the Cathedral ceiling.” With that vague threat out of the way, his eye swept over the rest of his former classmates, friends gathered in a concerned half-circle around their old house-leader. He didn’t like the way they looked at him, all pity and masked distaste. The way their eyes pleaded for the return of a prince long dead. It made his chest contort, swallowing back guilt and anger he was so very sick of feeling. Sometimes that dead prince could hear when the beast who killed him spoke, and was disgusted with his words. The frigidness and the distrust of people he would die for without a second thought. Standing in this room was nothing but a constant disconnect between mind and body, and he wished Byleth would pull him back together, but he was much too busy holding himself together to prop up Dimitri too. 

With nothing more than an unsatisfying nod, he turned on his heel back towards the doorway, the eyes boring into his back forcing him into a rigid gait. He passed Byleth, no words to offer. Instead, he brushed his side up against Byleth’s, his cape graciously obscuring his desperate need for touch, brief as it was. It was centering enough for one thing, enough to force the prince into pausing just outside the doorway. He turned as little as necessary, his eye peeking out through frazzled strands of hair. 

“Welcome back.” 

Byleth was the only one able to see the prince turn in the direction of the dormitories, wishing he could follow. He was thankful the reunion was as anticlimactic as it was, but the echoes of a Dimitri from months ago worried him. And he would be lying if the desire to run away and comfort Dimitri was fueled by only selfless desires. 

With Dimitri gone, his jury was once again fully focused on him. 

“Well,” Mercedes began, clapping her hands lightly together as she turned to face Byleth. “I do think His Highness is correct, there is no reason for us to to dawdle while our class remains incomplete. Professor, you would know the best place to start searching for Dedue, yes?” Her encouraging smile was bright, overcompensating for the falling faces who had hoped for a happier homecoming behind her. 

Byleth shifted, not wanting to vocalize the question that he had left them with before. “I have some ideas, but,” His voice trailed off, glancing over Mercedes’ shoulder and making contact with Felix. “Have you made your decision?”

“Obviously. Why on earth would we kick you out, you fool?” Felix folded his arms from where they had previously been fiddling with the pen Dimitri had left on the desk in front of him. “You got us into this war, you clearly have some ideas on how to get us out of it. Why would we throw away our only chance to end it all and save people’s lives?”

Byleth felt himself nearly go light headed as all the anxiety that had been welling up within him dispersed in a moment. “You wish for me to stay?”

Sylvain snorted as he kicked his legs lazily from where he sat on a desk, “Yeah. And to be honest, watching you roll around on the ground because your boy-toy got spooked and broke your hand somehow magically made most of our resentment go away, I think. Probably because it was really fucking funny.”

Byleth squinted as Ingrid read his mind and smacked the back of Sylvain’s head once again. How the young man hadn’t developed a permanent welt there at this point was a mystery. “There is so much wrong about that sentence I shouldn’t even dignify it with a response.”

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be the romantic type. How about ‘star-crossed lover’?” He was smart enough to duck this time. 

“That is not what we need to be focusing on right now.” Byleth huffed, waving him off a bit too enthusiastically. “And please don’t make light of the situation, seeing you all again after all this time was likely traumatic enough.”

A smirk twisted around his face as he cooed, “Aww, you really do care about him~” 

“I just knew they would get together eventually,” Annette whispered into Mercedes loudly enough for Ashe to hear across the room. Mercedes nodded sagely.

Ingrid groaned, tapping the sheet of parchment. “Everyone, please focus on our actual task.”

“I don’t know why you think it’s so cute, Annette. Professor always had the love-struck puppy following him around. Now it’s just a rabid one, and I think it’s developed mange.” 

“Not you too, Felix.”

“Nah, he’s just into the wild types. I get it, they’re more fun in bed, right Prof?”

_“Sylvain.”_

Sylvain cackled, imitating her scandalized tone. _“Ingrid.”_

“Uh, guys? Professor? Professor do you need to step out, I think you’re overheating.” Ashe’s innocent eyes were wide with concern, one hand pointing to his cheeks. “Your face is bright red, sir.” 

Byleth clapped a hand to his face, feeling the heat even through his gloves. Sothis, please actually, truly end him this time. Why couldn’t they have banished him from the monastery, it would have been a more palatable torture. 

“Dedue was broken out of prison by survivors of Duscur and is currently looking for Dimitri if you know of any settlements where Duscur people might be living that’s a good place to start scouting we’ll meet tomorrow morning and continue working out a proper plan _alright good night everyone_.” 

“Professor wait, we—” Ingrid raised a halting hand, only in time for the last of Byleth’s cloak to flick behind the door frame and out of sight, hurried steps heard rustling the overgrown vegetation outside. “—Sylvain, I am going to kill you.”

Sylvain was much too busy rolling on the desk to be concerned. “I can’t believe we took lessons from that guy!” 

Mercedes hid her own chuckle behind a sleeve, gliding over to rest a calming hand on Ingrid’s arm. “He must have been close to our age, Sylvain. He never pretended to be some wise master, if I remember correctly.”

Annette hummed in thought, eyes drifting to the chalkboard at the front of the room. “He never did feel like one of the other teachers, even if we called him that.” A thought crossed her face, a conflicting thought. “But I guess I always figured he was perfect, he always seemed to know the right answers. But if he’s just like the rest of us…” 

“I would turn back time to try to stop the war sooner too, I think. If I could.” Ashe stared down at his hands, his thumbs twiddling and his voice soft. “We’ve been idolizing the Professor since we were in school. I would do it, but I didn’t think he would.”

“This army is full of idiots,” Felix groaned. “The professor fits right in. I can’t believe he really thought we wouldn’t want him to stay.”

“What about your outburst earlier screamed ‘we trust you and want you to stay’?” Ingrid countered, hands firm on her hips.

“He should be used to that from me by now.”

“We really are so stupid,” Ashe bemoaned, rubbing his face in defeat.

\---

“That went horribly.”

“You did just fine.”

“I broke your _hand_.”

“It’s fine now, promise.” Byleth wiggled a couple fingers for emphasis, gloves conveniently obscuring the dark bruising, while Dimitri sat curled with his knees to his chest on the floor next to him. He didn’t look particularly convinced, especially when Byleth winced after a few moments of the movement.

“I hardly spoke a word to them, and when I did it was a threat and an order.”

“Maybe, but you also could have also thrown Felix through a window after what he said.” Byleth reached out to rub his back, soothing the poor prince while admiring the lack of armor on him. They huddled together in Byleth’s room, Dimitri eager to continue his nightly ritual of sleeping on the professor’s floor. Byleth had begun to pilfer more Dimitri-sized clothing from staff rooms now that he could expect a consistent guest, which he seemed to appreciate. The loose long-sleeved white tunic that hung off his frame was far more comfortable than metal or sweaty undershirts. It was only a bonus for Byleth that his companion happened to look very good in it.

“Staring.”

“Sorry.” The fact that all he had to do was say the word now left Byleth feeling a touch ashamed. 

“As I was saying, I believe not committing physical assault is a particularly low bar to clear.”

“So was eating and showering.” Byleth slid his hand up Dimitri’s back, moving to push some stray strands of hair back behind his ear. “I’m proud of you, even if it’s just baby steps.” 

“It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Then tomorrow is another day to keep improving, for the both of us.” A gentle smile helped to ease the pain eating away at Dimitri. “We’re all going to meet in the morning to plan our next steps. I would be very happy if you joined us.”

Dimitri bit his lip, the offer was hardly appealing. Everything in his gut screamed for him to hide in the Cathedral once again, while everything in his head was telling him to throw himself off the mountainside. It was as if his old friends were holding up a massive mirror, showing him just how shattered of a man he’d become. It didn’t seem worth the time to pick up the pieces. “What if I lose control of myself? If someone says the wrong thing, I,” his concerns fell to quiet mumbles, paranoia seeping into his gaze. 

“If you lose control, then there are seven highly trained soldiers there to catch you. More importantly, you have seven friends there to help pull you back afterwards.” Byleth leaned in closer, resting his head against Dimitri’s shoulder. He was so tired, the moon outside crawling relentlessly across the sky. “But, if it means anything, I don’t think you will attack anyone. Even at your worst, you tend to prefer self-destructive impulses over assault.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better at all.”

“Ah,” Byleth coughed into his fist, looking straight forward. Alright, not every assurance is going to be a winner. “I just mean, I don’t think you’re violent by nature. You like to protect everyone, just not yourself.”

“Then why is it so easy for me to hurt people?” He shifted onto his side, staring at Byleth’s injured hand before taking it in shaky fingers, like he was cradling a porcelain doll. “Why can I do this without even trying to, without meaning to?”

Because you’ve been cursed with a crest, Byleth thought. You’re not the only one. He wanted to sate Dimitri’s fears, but the prince carried on too quickly.

The fear written deep within those bright blue eyes was painful to look into. “I shouldn’t be able to snap someone’s arm like a twig off a dead tree. I shouldn’t be able to bend steel lances and break oak doors. What kind of child can overtake a full grown knight in strength?” Dimitri had begun biting too-sharp canines into his bottom lip so hard, blood began to trickle down his chin. He didn’t notice. “The things I can do—no, the things I have done, Byleth. None of it is human. You say I’m not a beast, but I can’t be human either. So what am I?” 

Byleth made sure he wouldn’t have a moment to continue, yanking Dimitri down by the shoulders and cradling his head against his own chest. The young man sputtered, trying to pull away on instinct, but Byleth’s hold was steadfast. Stroking his hair, he bent down to mutter into the ear not pressed against his body, “Listen, and tell me what you hear.”

The silence held in the room for ages, soft breathing the only thing to break it. Dimitri’s voice was laced with confusion by the time he spoke up. “I do not hear anything. You,” his voice trailed off, and Byleth could feel a hand press to his chest, near where his heart should be. His question was weak, soft and pitiful. “Do you not have a heartbeat?”

Byleth continued to pet him, finding some comfort in the repetitive action. It kept his mind from spiraling too far into questions about his own humanity, or lack thereof. To think Dimitri held the same fears was heart wrenching. 

“I don’t. I haven’t had one all my life. It took a different run for me to learn why.” Dimitri pried his head away, looking up in a curious way that was terribly disarming. “I was stillborn. Rhea put the Crest of Flames inside me to give me life. She had other intentions, like I mentioned in the library before. But it’s why I can live without a proper beating human heart.” 

“Oh,” was all Dimitri could manage.

“Listen, Dimitri. You’re human, even if you like to skirt the edges of humanity from time to time. I have met you enough times to know that your heart beats the same as everyone else’s. But,” Byleth cupped Dimitri’s face in his hands, who held no qualms with being held. If he was honest with himself, he would say he wanted to be held more, to be wrapped up in Byleth’s arms even if he was too big to fit comfortably in the smaller man’s embrace. “Well, I don’t really think I’m human. Not anymore, if I ever was at all. I’m not quite sure what I am, but what I am is nothing like the people we shared a classroom with. Do you still care for me, knowing that?”

Dimitri hardly allowed him to finish, and for a beautiful minute his eyes gleamed with the earnesty of the teenager Byleth knew before. “I would love you even if you were the goddess herself.” Even Dimitri was growing a bit unsure if ‘even if’ was the right thing to say. 

“Then understand that I love you, whether you are man or monster or something in between.” 

Kissing Dimitri was growing more natural, so Byleth didn’t think much when he bent down to meet the prince’s lips. Dimitri, on the other hand, was still a touch frozen as he processed what Byleth meant. It allowed Byleth to take the lead for once, and he took the opportunity to pull Dimitri more comfortably against him, spreading his legs so the unwieldy figure could fit in the open space. Yet he felt so small all of a sudden, allowing his professor to tug him about as he pleased. Dimitri clung to the front of Byleth’s tunic, melting against him. The two men were exhausted, and it showed in their slow kisses and lazy touches.

By the time Byleth pulled away, Dimitri’s face had already been lit up with pink. He was sure his own looked much the same. He brushed his thumb over where Dimitri had bitten into his lip, the warm leather of his glove wiping away some of the blood that had dried there. The young man had a dazed expression, eyes drooping with the weight of sleep, but something about that action lit just a bit of a fire behind the icy blue. He moved his head, brushing his mouth against Byleth’s hand, finding any bit of loose fabric. With a little flourish, Dimitri managed to tug off Byleth’s glove with his teeth, revealing the injured skin underneath. Byleth could manage nothing other than feeling his jaw drop against his own volition, while the prince straightened back up and took Byleth’s hand in his own, letting the glove drop from his mouth. 

“I finally had confidence for once, and you stole it again,” Byleth warbled, once again forced to stare up. 

“Do forgive me, my goddess.” A small smirk crossed his lips as he kissed Byleth’s knuckles, one thumb stroking the bruises light enough to be soothing.

The bright red of his face contrasted the glowing green mess curling around it, Byleth trying and failing to sputter out a coherent response. The best he could come up with was an unconvincing, “I’m not.”

“You said earlier you fused with one, and now you say your heart is really the crest of the goddess? That sounds divine enough to me.” 

Byleth could only hum in response, flushed and annoyed. But the laugh it pulled out from Dimitri made him relax. 

Dimitri leaned down to steal a last quick kiss from Byleth, letting his hand go free. “Thank you for staying up with me. But you should sleep now.” He leaned back and away from Byleth, choosing instead to prop himself up against the bed while his professor wobbled his way to his feet. “I expect my tactician to be sharp and prepared for his morning war meetings.”

Byleth folded his arms, petulant expression already at the ready. “Sleep with me.”

“Eh?”

Byleth would be damned if he didn’t wrestle back a little bit of that control tonight. And it worked, if his partner’s comically wide eyes and confused smile had anything to prove. “I mean sharing the bed. Not sleeping on the floor.”

The nervous giggling that floated out of Dimitri was a jarring disconnect between sound and sight, but Byleth couldn’t help cracking a smile as a result. Dimitri’s eye jumped from Byleth to the bed and back again a couple times before he settled on a brilliant counterargument.

“That— That would be improper.”

Sometimes that younger prince would jump out at the oddest of times.

“No, you’re just embarrassed.” Byleth bent down, hooking his arm and good hand under one of Dimitri’s arms and hoisted him up enough that he could push him back onto the bed. 

“We’re not both going to fit?”

“Tragic.” Byleth hid his self-satisfied smile as he faced the wall, changing out of the last of his day-wear. Dimitri knew the drill well enough at this point to remember to close his eyes as Byleth slipped into a night tunic, an oversized one that functioned more as a gown than a shirt. He wandered back over to the bed, giving Dimitri’s shoulder a playful shove. “Move over, your highness.” 

Dimitri did as requested, squishing himself up against the wall while Byleth rolled into bed next to him, adjusting the blanket so it draped comfortably around him. A part of him entertained the idea of swiping the cape Dimitri had left piled in the corner with his armor, but he supposed he wouldn’t need it tonight. 

It was true, the two didn’t fit very well in the bed made for one. The ancient boards creaked under the added weight. Byleth squirmed next to Dimitri—who only seemed to be growing more flustered as the seconds ticked by—until he managed to roll himself almost entirely atop the prince. “Ah, this may have to do. Are you comfortable?”

I believe I am on the verge of death, but aside from that, perfectly fine, Dimitri thought through a panicked haze. He gripped Byleth’s sides and hoisted him up, laying him so their chests met and Byleth could rest his head comfortably in the crook between his neck and shoulder. “Now I am.” 

He was so close. But for once, it was comfortable. Comforting. No sharp armored corners digging into his ribs, or too-tight grips crushing the breath out of him. Just a warm, soft body that left a happy buzzing in his head. Byleth nuzzled closer to his neck, breathing in the scent that always laced the cape he loved to cocoon himself in. His hand rested against his chest, feeling the rhythmic thumping that was barely there under his fingers. It was fascinating, and he resisted the urge to press his ear to Dimitri’s chest to listen closer. Instead, he settled for leaving a lazy kiss against his neck, mumbling against the skin as sleep already threatened to claim him.

“Goodnight, my kind beast.”

“Goodnight, my beloved goddess.”


	21. Family Reunions Always Have The Best Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kicks down door*  
Hello everyone i am uh *checks notes* incredibly tired
> 
> super didn't proofread the latter half of this bad boy so apologies for any mistakes i didn't catch
> 
> please enjoy love ya'll <3

Dimitri didn’t know what he did to deserve this.

He figured he deserved a lot of terrible things. Isolation, perhaps torture, and a death penalty was a given at this point. He had long since come to terms with all of that. 

But this. This was too much, even for him.

“I am begging you two to stop.” His request was deadpan, but he couldn’t get rid of the desperate look in his eye. He can’t feel his arms anymore. 

The apologetic chorus that sounded below him didn’t sound all that apologetic. “Sorry, your highness.” 

Annette’s big green eyes beamed from below him, her cheek squished up against the fabric of his cape and her arms tightly wound around his waist, just underneath Ashe’s. His freckled face, on the other hand, was staring blankly ahead. It was likely taking everything in his gentle commoner soul to manhandle the crown prince of Faerghus like this. It was nigh impossible a task to ask of him, but it was a necessary evil. 

“You need to know we still love and appreciate you, Your Highness,” Ashe mumbled, his face more steeled than Dimitri’s. “You cannot avoid us forever.”

“Plus, we need to make up for lost time!” Annette’s chipper voice was petulant. If she was to be moved it would be done by force. “_Years_ without hugs? No wonder you’re so nervous around everyone.”

Dimitri’s voice and resolve was quickly cracking. He couldn’t say he hated this, if he was to be honest with himself. But with every minute that ticked by he could feel his anxiety threatening to bubble over, and he had no idea what the result would be. That uncertainty was what elicited the jittery twitching that Annette and Ashe threatened to squeeze out of him. 

“Please, _please_ let go.”

“Nope.”

“You have made your point.”

Annette pouted, “Clearly not, if you’re still telling us to go away.”

“It has been almost ten minutes. _Leave, please_.”

“Not until you promise to stop running away from everyone except the Professor, Your Highness,” Ashe responded.

“Did he put you up to this.”

The brief uncomfortable silence told Dimitri everything he need to know about that. If he was already considering tossing Byleth into the fishpond for his years’ worth of lying, this may have just sealed his newfound revenge plans. 

Dimitri huffed, glaring down at the mage and the archer attached at his hip with all the compassion of a starving lion. The look was enough to get Ashe to loosen his grip and look to the stones under him for comfort, while Annette only puffed up her cheeks and stared back with twice the determination. 

“I will throw you off the highest point in Garreg Mach if you do not let go of me right now,” Dimitri hissed. He mentally kicked himself for falling back on threats again, but he was growing desperate. This would work. This had to work. Annette and Ashe are smart, surely this would get across that provoking the paranoid psychotic with violent, murderous tendencies might not be the best course of action. 

“No you won’t.”

For fuck’s sake.

Dimitri couldn’t say he had ever seen sweet little Annette wear a shit-eating grin in the year he had come to know her at the monastery, yet the sight of it now appeared wholly natural and expected, and he felt foolish for questioning the latent power the ginger held deep within her soul. Perhaps that is why Felix was never sharp with her. She is simply too dangerous. 

Dimitri let out a shaky breath, trying to put together a response while the thought of chucking them halfway across the Cathedral rang in his ears. “I understand what you are trying to do, An,” His tongue stumbled over her name. He had found most names now cause him problems, not just Byleth’s. Maybe it was the familiarity that made him uncomfortable, maybe it was just the years of never having to address anyone whose name mattered anymore. He tried again, after pushing a swallow down his dry throat. “Annette. But I need you to let go.” 

Dimitri lifted his hand into view, from where it had been held stiff at his sides. Ashe’s eyes pulled up, and Annette’s grin faltered when they both saw the way it trembled like a leaf in a thunderstorm. Understanding passed both of their faces, and the two retracted without another world of dissent.

Dimitri immediately stepped back, and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He gripped the lance had been purposely forcing away from his two old friends in both hands, to ground himself and to stop the shaking. He wanted to look away from them. The disappointment in their eyes was palpable. Was he really so weak that he could not handle something as simple as a hug? What was he so scared of, had he really fallen so far and become so pathetic, had—

“I’m sorry.”

Was that him? No, he hadn’t spoken. Annette.

She wrang her hands together, glancing at Ashe as she continued. “I didn’t realize that would, I mean,” She struggled to find a gentle way to word it. “I figured maybe you were just being stubborn, like Felix or uhm, yeah.”

“We overstepped a boundary, and we’re sorry, Your Highness.” Ashe gave a small bow, but it might have just been a way to avoid eye-contact. Dimitri appreciated it. Annette nodded with frantic agreement, her eyes big and worried. It took him a moment to recognize the worry was not fear of him, but fear for him. 

“I thought it would show you we’re not dangerous, and you can be around us, and we still care about you, and,” Annette took a hesitant step forward, and Dimitri forced himself from stepping back. “I’m not as good at this as Mercedes, you know, I think I’m better at reading books than people.” Ashe nodded in agreement, figuring himself the same. Dimitri would have to disagree. All of the Blue Lions had a bit of a talent for perceiving what he would prefer to remain unseen. Or maybe he was just that easy to read. “So if you could let us know what you’re comfortable with, maybe we can still show you that stuff without making you anxious?” 

Dimitri stood rigid, his lance the only thing keeping him upright. How was he expected to answer that? If Annette and Ashe didn’t know what to do to make him comfortable, he had even less of an idea. It had taken Byleth months to manage a full conversation, and now he had to find a way to adapt to six trauma-inducing faces after just three weeks of return? He could hardly look any of them in the eye, let alone feel comfortable with being touched. His attendance at any meetings was limited to standing off to the side in silence, and that alone left him out of commission for the rest of the day. 

Annette cocked her head, still hopeful for an answer. So many of them were so optimistic. Optimistic to a fault.

Dimitri thought back to what Byleth had told him a few days before. The curiosity had been gnawing at him, even if he told himself he didn’t need to know. Who cares what his other selves had been like before him. Byleth had said they were dead, be it by sickness or spear. Yet, when it had started to keep him up at night, Dimitri’s pride had conceded defeat and he asked. 

Byleth revealed why seeing Dimitri retreat to the Cathedral even now bothered him so. He painted a picture of a bitter, scary beast that took the death of his second father to return to anything resembling a man. Someone who responded to any act of gentle kindness with a bark to go away. Someone who admitted freely he would use his childhood friends as tools with not a care if they lived or died.

It was frighteningly familiar, and in moments like these Dimitri could feel himself waver towards that past self. He still _was_ that self, only now he bit holes into his tongue to keep himself from ordering people away from him, at the very least tacking on weak pleas to the end. And instead of not caring about the fate of his friends, maybe he cared too much. He cared too much about what they thought of him now, what gross images they have of him in their minds. He wished Byleth was bigger, big enough to hide behind more easily. Byleth would know how to answer Annette. Maybe it was just trial and error, but he knew how to ease him further and further away from the rabid creature fate expected him to reduce to. 

“If you don’t know yet, that’s okay.” 

Ah. He took too long to respond.

Annette offered a sad smile that didn’t fit well on her face. Ashe pressed his hands together, probably a subconscious fidget of the hands but it looked too much like a prayer for Dimitri to leave it unnoticed. “We’ll leave you alone now, Your Highness.”

“Don’t go away.”

The plea stumbled awkward out of his mouth, but he knew what he was saying. And he meant it. 

The two looked back from their mournful march out of the room, eyes once again lit with hope. It was enough to send another surge of fear through Dimitri, which he managed by gripping his lance and leaving small dents in the shaft. Dammit. He had finally gotten comfortable with the weight of this one. Ah, what was he saying? What would he say? He should say something now, right?

“Food?”

What?

“Eat food, uh. Lunch?” Yeah, the light coming in through the windows seems light enough. Afternoon, that means lunch. Yes, this is fine he’s doing fine. 

Annette and Ashe cocked their heads in simultaneous confusion. He is not doing fine.

“Have lunch together? With me?” It appears as though Byleth has taken ownership of their shared brain cell this day. Fantastic. 

Annette gave a little hop and twirl as she faced Dimitri properly, clasping her hands together in delight. As clumsy as the offer was presented, she was more than happy to hear it. “I’m starving! Lunch sounds like a great idea.”

“I can whip something up real quick, if that’s alright with you.” Ashe’s face relaxed in turn, and he offered one of those charming, lopsided smiles that could make anyone’s heart melt. 

Dimitri really did love his lions. 

He loved them very much, and that’s why he didn’t pull away when Annette hopped to his side, putting a soft hand on his lance, several inches from his own. 

“Hand-holding might be a bit much, right? So is this alright?” 

A hesitant nod was enough for her, and soon she was charging forward, hand brandished outwards with a dramatic point towards the dining hall. Dimitri could hardly hear Ashe’s muffled giggle from his other side as he was dragged away by one small, very scary mage. 

\---

If his stint alone had taught him anything, it was that table manners were an absolute waste of time. Dimitri bemoaned the amount of time he could have spent training, or studying, or spending time with his not-yet-murdered family members as a child that was squandered learning on which side of the knife should the spoon rest or whatever other bullshit Gilbert or whoever drabbled on about. 

And to think he perpetuated the thought as a teenager! In what way would his ability to govern be reflected by whether or not he used a fork? That his princely status would be revoked because he licked a bit of grease off his fingers a couple times. Who cares. Down with the nobility, and all that. 

...Why is everyone staring?

Dimitri slowly lowered the pheasant leg he had been gnawing on, a bit of roasted something still hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t said a word since Annette sat him down at the table and ushered Ashe into the kitchen. He clammed up even tighter the moment the others filtered into the dining hall, attracted by the smells and rumors that Ashe was the chef today. Or, in Ingrid’s case, just by the promise of food. 

He hadn’t said anything, but he noticed the hesitation when they spotted him at the table. The slight stumbles in their strides or the double-takes. It was fine. He couldn’t blame them. He had been eating, he promised Byleth as such, but he had taken meals alone. It had taken a week alone for him to convince his paranoia to shut it long enough to eat meals prepared by his old classmates. 

Annette had plopped herself in the seat next to him, leaving a healthy distance but close enough to look friendly. The seat next to Dimitri remained conspicuously empty. Mercedes had been brave and kind enough to take the spot directly across for him, rather than let it remain unoccupied as well. 

The silence had been unimaginably awkward. Dimitri thought Sylvain was going to try his hand at conversation, but whatever he had planned to say Ingrid had decided was not worth risking. Her sharp elbow was followed by what he assumed was a stomp on Felix’s foot next to her, muting the inevitable snide comment he had prepared to throw at him. 

Bless Ashe for being a quick cook. The arrival of food had finally forced soft conversation from the lions, that grew to be banter that felt remarkably familiar. And it gave Dimitri something to focus on aside from the patterns of lines in the oak table that he could only count so many times before going truly mad. 

Except it got quiet again, only a couple minutes later. But he hadn’t done anything, so why was everyone’s attention on him? Were they expecting him to say something? Byleth never said anything when they ate together. Where’s Byleth. I want Byleth, he would know what to say. Are they mad? Scared? Should I leave? Do they hate me? Of course they hate me, but then they should say something! What are they expecting me to do? _What am I supposed to say?_

Ingrid slid a fork in his direction without a word. 

Sylvain and Annette lost it.

Ashe, Mercedes and Ingrid gave a valiant attempt at muffling their giggles. 

Felix rolled his eyes, as if that would distract everyone from the hand he brought up to cover his own smile.

And for the first time outside of Byleth’s influence, Dimitri felt his face heat up and turn a charming shade of pink. 

Sylvain brought his palm down on the table with a powerful thunk, causing Dimitri to jolt in slight panic and everyone else to quiet down. With his other hand, he took a fistful of his fork and knife and chucked it over his shoulder with a theatrical flourish, grinning the whole while. 

“Voila! A show of solidarity for our dear prince, who has finally learned that there's more to life than looking noble!” He pressed a hand to his chest, while his other hand snatched the fork still sitting useless in front of Dimitri and chucked it behind him to join the growing pile. “_I_ for one am proud of you, Your Highness,” Sylvain smirked, casting superior glances at Ingrid beside him.

Annette cheered before Dimitri could even consider a response, tossing her silverware recklessly and almost impaling Ashe on a butterknife. “All food is finger-food, King Dimitri’s first noble decree!” 

“I’m not—” Dimitri tried, before dodging a spoon Felix definitely threw at him on purpose. 

“If the boar wants to eat like one, then fine, he can make a fool of himself all he wants.” Then why did you throw your silverware away, Dimitri grumbled to himself. 

Dimitri debated the merits of arguing that everyone should continue to use forks while he himself would continue not to, but it was too late. Mercedes had already begun picking apart her pheasant with slender fingers, a pleased smile on her lips that she wiped clean with the back of her hand. Ashe too had forgone spoons in favor of slurping soup directly from the bowl, and even Ingrid, albeit reluctantly, had decided her pride as a refined knight was no reason to get in the way of a proper meal. 

And in an instant, everyone was talking again. Laughing, smiling, flicking chunks of mashed potato at each other from time to time. Like everything was normal. Like Dimitri was allowed to be apart of that normal. 

What an odd thing for them to do. 

Despite the “show of solidarity” Sylvain proposed, Dimitri couldn’t help but be self-conscious as he went back to nibbling on his food, more focused on watching the others laugh and attempt to steal bits of each other’s meals than on making a scene of himself. He ate quietly, letting himself exist aside all these familiar voices, voices not screaming at him, accusing him, telling him he was better off dead. Voices that were drowning out those other voices so very well he couldn’t hear anything other than laughter and teasing. 

And when Mercedes’ voice let out an intentional belch that would put any other to shame, beaming proudly while the shocked faces around her applauded and cheered, Dimitri laughed. 

He laughed, and he kept laughing, even despite the six pairs of eyes that whipped around to face him, wide and bright. And then Annette started laughing, and Ashe, and Mercedes, and Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix. And Dimitri kept laughing, even when he felt tears prick the back of his eyes and he was suddenly unsure what he was laughing about or crying about but he wanted to keep laughing because he didn’t know what to say to them when he stopped. 

He didn’t notice Felix silently move to take the seat next to him, or Annette scooting her chair a bit closer, or Sylvain, Ashe and Ingrid leaning in a bit closer. He felt Mercedes’ hand brush against his. He noticed enough to open his fist enough for her to slip a hastily wiped-off hand into his. His laughter subsided, and he hoped his more misplaced strands of hair hid whatever tears might have slipped out of the corner of his eye. 

“We missed you too, Dimitri.” Mercedes pressed another hand atop his. Annette was right. She was very good at this. 

“Everyone?”

Byleth’s voice cut through the quiet, urgent if not confused at the sight he walked in on. He wasn’t expecting to find Dimitri gathered with the rest of the Blue Lions, for one thing. The sight of him holding back tears was even less comprehensible, but he didn’t have the time to start interrogating. Everyone’s faces darted up to meet his, Dimitri’s especially. He could see the relief wash over his face. 

Byleth sucked in a breath. 

“He’s here.” 

The relief on Dimitri’s face turned into something Byleth couldn’t name. Dimitri couldn’t name it either.

\---

Dimitri hadn’t rushed out of the dining hall with the same fervor the rest had. His feet felt heavy as they carried him down the stairs. He should be relieved. Excited. He should be on his knees thanking the goddess. Or, thanking Duscur, if everything happened the way Byleth had said it did. 

Instead, it was taking everything in him to drag himself to the entrance of Garreg Mach and push past the rest of the Blue Lions waiting with bated breath. He stood and he stared, waiting for someone to come into view. 

Byleth turned the corner first, looking back at someone. He lit up the shadows around him. Something in the back of Dimitri’s mind said it was pretty, but it didn’t feel as notable as it usually does. 

And then Dedue was standing there. 

And suddenly Dimitri’s feet no longer felt like lead, and they moved on their own, and they took him flying down the staircase, scraggly hair and tattered blue fabric and fur billowing out behind him like wings. 

He couldn’t imagine what Dedue was thinking at that moment, and he didn’t care to think on it himself. Looking at him, Dimitri didn’t have the fear that he did with the others. Dedue hadn’t seen him at his worst. No one had. Not even Byleth, really. But he was close. Dedue was closer than any of the others to know the beast he left behind, and Dimitri latched onto that. Because if Dedue would return knowing what would be waiting for him, then that means he would be willing to meet whatever his prince had become. 

Byleth said he would love him, man or monster. Maybe Dedue believed the same. And just maybe that means the others could manage as well. And that thought was scary, because it gave him a lot of hope all at once, and he didn’t know what to do with hope because hope is terribly fragile. So he set that hope to the side and freed his arms to cling to Dedue as he barrelled full speed into his poor, shellshocked retainer. 

“Yuh,” Dedue wheezed, struggling to speak after all the air had been forcibly ejected from his lungs thanks to Dimitri’s death grip. “Your Highness,” He gradually recovered, unsure what to do with his hands that settled on laying stiff against the fur pelts covering Dimitri’s back. Dimitri had never been a very touchy person, for obvious reasons. Dedue wasn’t prepared with the protocol for bear hugs. “Please forgive my lateness.”

Dimitri was far too busy burying his face in Dedue’s shoulder to acknowledge the apology. He was too busy marvelling the familiar voice, low and rough, but gentle if you knew how to listen for it, just as it had always been. Dedue no longer dwarfed Dimitri, a lack of size discrepancy that Dedue was still trying to manage at the current moment given the Dimitri he had left had been much younger and scrawny and malnourished near the point of death. But he was still larger than Dimitri, something the prince found comforting. Familiar. Familiar but not scary. It’s just Dedue, and he’s alive, and he’s come back, the man who’s saved his life more times than even Dedue himself knows is back and he’s warm and alive and here. 

“Your Highness?”

Dimitri didn’t hear him. He just held on a little tighter, gloves struggling to find purchase on the dented armor, grabbing at the fabric of his scarf, anything that could prove Dedue was solid and still in front of him. 

Dedue’s voice became a touch more insistent, the worry in his voice growing more obvious. “Your Highness, can you hear me?”

Byleth stood well off to the side, moving closer to the other students. He wanted to calm Dedue, to tell him he could hear him, and he wanted to tell Dimitri that Dedue wasn’t going away, because he knew that death grip and he knew what it meant. But some moments aren’t meant for divine interference. And as eager as the other lions were to gather around their lost friend, they could sense the same. 

Dedue’s voice lowered as Byleth moved away, his mild desperation allowing him something he struggled with even at the prince’s own request. 

“It is good to see you again, Dimitri.” 

That was all it took. Dimitri wasn’t happy about that fact, but there wasn’t much he could do about the tears spilling forth aside from allowing them to come and attempt to obscure them so he would be the only one to know they were there. Except the tears came stronger, and he could feel himself shake, and he thought he could hear something like muffled wailing, and he was very worried that the wailing was coming from him. 

“Don’t ever…” Breathe. “Throw your life away…” Breathe. “For mine…” Breathe. “Again…” Breathe, and break into sobs all over again. 

Dimitri didn’t want that to be the first thing he said to Dedue. He choked it out nonetheless. Dedue didn’t mind, even if he minded the order itself. “Understood, Your Highness.”

Given the way Dedue’s arms tightened around him, a large hand pressed to the back of his head protectively, Dimitri was certain the wailing was his. He wished he could get it to stop. It was probably quite annoying. Loud. Uncomfortable. 

What Dimitri couldn’t see was the way Dedue’s eyes had softened into a gaze meant for the delicate flowers he cared for years before. A gaze that was understanding, and happy in the most bittersweet of ways. Dimitri didn’t see Dedue look up and offer that small smile to the gathering above him, mouthing a silent apology for all the tears spilling down their cheeks. And he didn’t see Byleth usher his Blue Lions forward. 

He felt weight behind him. And he felt very, very warm all of a sudden. 

He didn’t see everyone gathered around him, but he could feel the way they gripped at his cloak and his armor, the way they pressed around Dedue and brought everyone just a bit closer together, gentle mumbles of grateful reunions floating amongst them. He didn’t see Byleth slip in amongst them, but he could feel a familiar hand rest against his. 

He stopped hearing wails, just sniffing and choked, tearful laughter. He didn’t know what was coming from him and what was coming from the warm bodies around him. 

Warm.

Had his family always been so warm?

\---

Dimitri was collapsed on Byleth’s bed, watching the professor’s back as it remained hunched over his desk. Byleth had been at work all day, the exhaustion showing in drooped shoulders and the way his hair stood in funny directions from hands repeatedly brushing through it. He had refused to let Mercedes trim it, and it had begun to curve and fall in messy waves. Dimitri quite liked it that way. 

He wished he could rise and aid Byleth, but he found himself unable to move. His attempt to speak earlier had resulted in a strained croak. Byleth had needed to pry Dimitri from Dedue, but after he’d managed the feat, the prince had almost collapsed right there in the entranceway as the stress fell back upon him like a landslide. 

He felt pretty pathetic for being bedridden because of a shared meal and a reunion, but Byleth had assured he was proud of him. The words helped. They always did. Maybe he shouldn’t be so eager to please. He shouldn’t be a lot of things, he supposed. Like being so tired. Why must he be so tired.

“Dimitri?”

“Mmn?” His glazing eyes slid from the floor to Byleth, pausing for a second on the parchment in his hands. 

“I know you agreed to the plan in our meeting the other day, but I wanted to ask you again. In private.” Byleth rose from his seat and came to kneel beside his bed, pushing aside hair falling into Dimitri’s face. “You are certain you are okay with it?”

“As long as you are still certain it will not be intercepted by the empire?”

“It will not, I’ll make sure of it. But that isn’t the thing I thought would worry you.” 

“It only took me three weeks.”

Byleth blinked, thrown off his train of thought. “What do you mean?”

Dimitri gave a lazy smile, “You said the old me took months to talk to everyone. I did it in three weeks.”

“Is that so?” Byleth smiled back, poking his side. “You didn’t exactly do a lot of talking.”

“Tomorrow.” Dimitri rolled a bit, sinking further into the pillows. “I want to talk to Dedue. And I want to eat with everyone again.” 

“I can’t believe I’m being replaced.” Byleth laid his face against the edges of the pillows and stuck his tongue out. “You’re going to leave me for Dedue, I knew it. How could I ever compete?”

“Never,” Dimitri dragged out the r sound in a sleepy mumble that made Byleth let out a soft chuckle.

“It’s alright, anyone would fall for those rugged good looks.”

“Byleth?”

Dimitri’s eyes had fallen to the parchment still rolled up in Byleth’s hand. Byleth nodded to him, spurring him to continue.

“Do you think I will be okay?” Even he could hear how weak his voice sounded. How young. All these reunions were bringing him back too far, he thought. 

“I think you’ll be more than okay.” Dimitri wished he could have a painting of every moment Byleth smiled. Each one was sweeter than the last. “And you can take as many naps as you need afterwards. I may just have to join you. He can be exhausting, after all.” 

“I might miss the monastery just being the two of us.”

“Me too.” Byleth rose again, setting the parchment back down on the desk and pinching out the dying flicker of light from the candle beside it. “But it’s not as quiet now, and I think I like that too.”

Dimitri moved enough for Byleth to slide up next to him, fitting up against his chest like a puzzle piece. Byleth had taken to lying with the side of his head pressed up against Dimitri’s chest. Dimitri knew it was to listen to his heartbeat. If the sound helped lull him to sleep, then he couldn’t mind. “It’s much warmer here now, I think.”

He wasn’t sure if Byleth heard him, his steady breathing revealing just how finished the poor professor was. Instead, Dimitri’s eyes wandered to where he knew a letter was left curled in on itself in the dark. He could picture Byleth’s chicken-scratch script attempting to appear official, one name in shaky, thin lettering. 

_To the Leader of the Leicester Alliance, Claude Von Riegan._


	22. Faking Confidence Is Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BAAAAAACK, HAPPY HOLIDAYS YA'LL
> 
> And I have officially beaten every route in FE3H! So now I have no excuses not to update. Also I'm back from my semester in Japan! 
> 
> Sorry this chapters a touch shorter than my recent ones, there wasn't a great place to break it and I really wanted to get something out for you guys.

_“Teach? Yo, Teach, are you in there?”_

_“He’s probably sleeping. He did so much work at Gronder, anyone would be exhausted.”_

_“Yeah, except Teach isn’t just anyone. He doesn’t generally just sleep off battles. Can’t blame me for being a bit worried, y’know.”_

_“He did look awfully sick after we talked yesterday. Maybe he just needs some time to himself.”_

_“Then he’d go to the infirmary, not his room.”_

_“...Claude?”_

_“Mm?”_

_“You don’t think it has anything to do with all the people who died, right? He’s never been sensitive about it before, but I just… After fighting some of those faces, I kinda want to sleep for a long time too.”_

\---

_“Oh? Where are you off to in such a rush, brother?”_

_“Pardon, Flayn. I am on my way to check on the Professor. I fear he may be coming down with an illness, and at such a terribly inopportune time.”_

_“Oh my, that’s terrible!”_

_“Indeed. I found him just this morning unconscious on the ground outside. He was just asleep, but he seemed terribly disoriented when he awoke. Frighteningly pale, too. He was fully convinced he saw… He was convinced some dream he had was reality.”_

_“He’s been overworking himself, I knew it! He needs to relax. I think I shall go brew him a cup of tea. I’m sure that and a charming smile will get him to rest for a little while.”_

_“That’s quite kind of you. You should be able to find him in the infirmary, if he hasn’t already escaped back to his office.”_

_“Hm. You wouldn’t happen to remember what his favorite tea is, would you? It has been quite some time since he’s invited anyone to tea, I think.”_

_“...If I remember correctly, he always had a cup of chamomile with him during staff meetings.” _

\---

_“Not to be prying outside of what is appropriate, but have you noticed something… Different about the Professor?”_

_“If by different you mean lifeless, yes I have. Pretty sure we all have, if your eyes still work. Why are you bringing it up to me?”_

_“Well, he seems to favor you in particular. I thought perhaps you would have some clues as to what is bothering him so. He seems to have been getting worse ever since we engaged with the Alliance.”_

_“I figure watching old students of yours die would bother anyone. The blood alone is upsetting enough.”_

_“Of course, but… Well, don’t you think there’s something more?”_

_“Don’t know. Why don’t you ask him yourself, Ferdinand.”_

_“Well, I would, but. Well.”_

_“Well?”_

_“I… I made an off-hand remark about the Kingdom the other day. About their leader, specifically. Something about how a leader should not be controlled by their emotions or some such, I hardly remember. I thought someone like the Professor would agree wholeheartedly.”_

_“What does this have to do with asking him what’s wrong?”_

_“I have not seen even Hubert give a look as cold as the one I received that afternoon.”_

_“Oh. Now that you mention it, I bet I have seen something even colder.”_

_“How so?”_

_“Have you seen the way the Professor looks at Edelgard nowadays?” _

\---

_“You will bow your head before all of the lives you trampled for your ideals before you die in misery!”_

_N o._

_“Your obsession with me is appalling. If you were a normal human, you would most certainly have died already.”_

_W a i t. _

_“Farewell, King of Delusion.”_

_S t o p._

_“If only we were born in a time of peace, you might have lived a joyful life as a benevolent ruler.”_

_T h i s w a s n ‘ t s u p p o s e d to h a p p e n._

_“To the fires of eternity with you…”_

_D o n ‘ t l o o k a t m e l i k e t h a t._

_“...With the both of you.”_

“PLEASE, NO!”

Byleth jolted up fast enough to see stars, his bed creaking under the sudden movement. His hoarse plea bounced off the wooden walls of his room, a disorienting sight after rain drenched plains surrounded him but a blink before. He could still feel a chill, the icy pounding of raindrops tearing through his cloak and into his flesh. A chill that stretched up his spine and strangled him and it made it impossible to breathe, as if his neck was sundered open by the blade of an axe.

He can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?

It’s cold. Why is it so cold. 

Why is my face cold and hot and wet. Where is the rain coming from.

It’s coming from me. Oh. Am I crying? What am I crying about?

Nightmare. 

Same nightmare. Memory? Both.

Byleth worked through each thought one at a time, his hand trembling as it worked to wipe away tears leaving salty streaks against his cheeks. He focused on the walls around him, the same musty slats of monastery wood that had been there last night. He focused on evening his breathing, teetering back away from hyperventilating. He focused on his bed, solid, warm, familiar, empty.

Empty?

Where’s Dimitri.

Byleth’s head whipped around again, frantically scanning a room too small to lose a fully grown boar in. “Dimitri?” 

His query was met with the sound of gentle fluttering, as a piece of parchment jostled from its resting place by Byleth’s panic floated to the ground. Snatching it up without a second hesitation, all of Byleth’s fear melted from his body as he read the thick handwriting that seemed to be trying so very hard to be as refined as it once was. 

“Byleth— If I am not in the baths, please check the training grounds,” scrawled across the paper, preceded by a dark scribble where Dimitri had attempted to scratch out ‘professor’. The writing dwarfed another line, crammed in the corner like an anxious afterthought, “Apologies if my absence startled you.”

Byleth exhaled, folding the parchment in two as he slid off the bed and struggled to keep himself upright on weak knees. He chided himself for assuming the worst. Byleth needed to have more faith in Dimitri. The prince had bottomless troughs worth of it for his professor, it would be cruel not to return the favor. Especially after the work Dimitri’s been putting in the last several weeks; Coming to every meeting asked of him, speaking with his classmates and even seeking them out himself from time to time, showering on a regular basis with actual soap (bless the goddess, and by goddess he means Mercedes). He even tried his hand at cooking dinner for everyone. A hand that should really never be anywhere near a stove, as the Blue Lions unanimously agreed upon after gnawing through history’s most flavorless charred mystery meat. They may not have appreciated that particular show of growth, but it was extraordinary how much Dimitri’s old friends continued to pull him back from the brink, with every patient nod and encouraging smile despite his occasional sharp tongue.

Clasping on his fur shawl, which was growing more and more unnecessary as the mountain winter crawled to an end, Byleth went to seek out his missing bed-warmer, feeling an unexpected pride for his lions. 

\---

The absence of any gentle chatter or sharp clang of colliding blades floating out of the training hall almost forced Byleth back into rechecking the bathhouse. It was a gruff voice that halted Byleth’s turn back to the door.

“Good morning, Professor,” Dedue stood at attention at the side of the practice ring, morning light bouncing off his otherwise dull grey armor and catching Byleth’s eyes. Byleth returned the warmth in Dedue’s gaze with his own subtle smile, trotting over to join him and the prince who would inevitably be somewhere nearby. 

Ever since their reunion, Dedue almost immediately resumed his position as Dimitri’s shadow. The loyal retainer would always be within eyesight of his charge, save for when he would wordlessly pass Dimitri to Byleth and go off to cook, or garden, or do anything a Dedue would tend to do. Even as oblivious as he tended to be, Byleth had been a touch worried he would develop some sort of jealousy once he was no longer Dimitri’s sole caretaker. His fears turned out to be unfounded, and Byleth found himself grateful for Dimitri’s growing independence now that Byleth was not his only beacon of safety. Byleth and Dedue had set up the perfect prince-rotation, without ever needing to say a word to each other. It was all some sort of beast-tamer silent solidarity.

Neither man ever felt much a need for small talk, which Byleth also appreciated. “Is everything set for today?”

Dedue nodded. “Any thieves milling about the area have been removed. There are no signs of any Imperial spies. Everyone has been equipped with functional arms, flying mounts have been stabled.” Mossy green eyes flicked off to the side, and his deep voice lowered further. “We can only hope those last measures are unnecessary.” 

“Thank you, Dedue,” Byleth nodded in return, wishing he could express his appreciation in a more sincere manner. As simple as a meeting seemed to be on the surface, the sheer gamble they were all taking today left Byleth’s stomach doing backflips. “Your help, with everyone’s, has been enormous. And,” Byleth attempted to peer over Dedue’s shoulder, but the Duscur wall in front of him left little in his line of vision. “How is Dimitri?”

A thin smile pulled at Dedue’s scarred lips and he stepped to the side, turning back to reveal a figure hunched over a small mound of black armor. His hair was pulled into the ponytail he wore more and more as of recent, tiny grumbles of frustration rising out of him. “His Highness woke this morning, insistent on aiding with preparations.”

“Is he,” Byleth cocked his head, amused by how little of the outside world seemed to be reaching the prince hard at work. “Is he trying to polish his armor?” 

“‘I am going to do everything in my power to pretend I am a well-adjusted human being,’ was His Highness’s reasoning.”

“How long has he been trying to get the old blood-stains out?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

Dedue’s patience is truly unmatched. Byleth had much to learn yet. 

“Dimitri,” Byleth called, taking a cautious step into Dimitri’s line of sight. The figure gave a slight jolt, the sound of a polish-smeared rag squeaking against metal as his hand jerked forward. “You’re up early.”

Dimitri looked up, streaks of brownish-grey grime speckling his cheeks amidst his work. His eyes were bright despite the dark circles, formed more from early mornings than chronic insomnia now. “Ah, good morning, Byleth. I am sorry for disappearing so quickly, I just had so many things to do before, ah. Before we have more guests.” The last sentence fell in a mumble from his mouth, dripping apprehension. 

Byleth bent down to his level, looking over the pile of armor now gleaming like polished obsidian. “Trying to impress someone, are we?”

“Trying to avoid any easy targets for teasing, would be more accurate. And,” Dimitri’s gaze swept to the floor, light pink dusting his cheeks. “We may not have been the closest, given our respective positions. But I did once see Claude as a friend. To see me as I am now,” Dimitri’s eyes travelled back up despite his face kept low, causing the blue to be lost behind long eyelashes. “I do not want him to be disappointed.” 

Byleth found himself silently thanking Dedue once more, content in the knowledge that the retainer’s eyes would not wander in such a way that Byleth would regret pressing a soft kiss to Dimitri’s forehead. It was all he could think to do to reassure him. “Claude,” Byleth tried, reaching back to memories where the snarky archer was the recipient of his lectures instead, “Was never one to waste his time with pointless pity, you know. He’s smarter than that.” 

“Smart enough to pick up on this, I hope,” Dimitri mumbled, leaning away from Byleth as he began to dig something from a chest pocket. “Perhaps it is selfish of me to ask you to play into this ruse, but,” Dimitri’s expression fell into something heart-meltingly bashful as he procured a pair of colored ribbons, red and white satin curling up in his palm. “I hope you would be willing.”

Byleth stared at the ribbons for a moment before raising an eyebrow back at their holder. Should he make the joke? He’s going to make the joke. 

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with Claude. Was bondage his idea, or perhaps Sylvain’s?”

The poorly suppressed snort from Dedue’s direction was almost funnier than the way Dimitri’s already pink face lit up red faster than a flame. “I- What?! No, no these aren’t even long enough for that—I mean, how could you possibly think I would suggest that! _In public, no less!_” 

Dimitri looked up at Dedue either for forgiveness or assistance, and received a non-committal shrug in response, his poker face just as strong as Byleth’s. “Your private affairs with the Professor are none of my concern, Your Highness.” Alas, he could not help the way the corners of his mouth upturned. “But if I may add, the Professor is strong. You may wish to find something sturdier.”

Dimitri’s shoulders sagged as his entire torso sunk to the floor, hands covering the face threatening to burst into flames. “Dedue, I trusted you…”

Byleth chuckled, reaching to rub Dimitri’s back as the prince conceded defeat. Despite their otherwise chaste relationship, Byleth had a sense Dimitri was less innocent to such topics than folks like Sylvain seemed to believe. Certain journal entries Byleth had chosen to only skim over for the sake of Dimitri’s remaining privacy was enough of a clue. But the way he would panic and sputter his denial at even the tamest suggestion never ceased to be hilarious to Byleth. It was such earnesty—and naivety—that made him the target of so much of Claude’s past teasing, the very thing he was now trying to avoid. 

The poor boar is going to be eaten alive.

“Alright, Dimitri. What are the ribbons actually for?”

Byleth strained to make out the muffled response. “Your hair. Claude once taught me how to braid.”

“Really?” The answer caught him by surprise. He knew much of what went on when his students interacted with each other. But, in all honesty, he hadn’t kept track of how the house leaders got on. He hadn’t liked to think about it much, turning a deaf ear to whatever friendly banter he may have passed between the future monarchs. Knowledge of what was to come forced the dialogue to sit heavy in his heart. 

Dimitri raised his head, some of the color receding from his face. “He had been teasing me about my hair, at the time. Something about it looking like string cheese. I admitted I did not fully care for it myself, that I actually preferred it longer like it was when I was young.”

Byleth absentmindedly twiddled strands of his own hair between his fingers. Such preference was not lost on him, considering Dimitri couldn’t seem to keep his hands out of Byleth’s whenever they were close enough. “And?”

“I explained I was forced to cut it because it got in the way of combat, and ponytails come apart too easily. He suggested I learn how to braid, if I ever wanted to grow it out again.”

“And he taught you?”

Dimitri nodded. “Hilda was afraid I would rip her hair out, so he let me practice on his instead.” Dimitri pointed to his right cheek, where Claude once wore his own little adornment. “It took some time, but I managed it. After that, I would braid Ingrid’s hair from time to time, when she didn’t feel like doing it herself.” 

“Why are you insistent on braiding my hair, though?” Byleth couldn’t quite make the necessary connection, aside from Dimitri picking an odd time to want to play dress up. 

Dimitri tugged on the ribbons, careful not to snap them into pieces but needing something for his anxious hands to fidget with. “Byleth,” his eyes fell back to the floor. “You know it’s very likely I will freeze up when he arrives. Or worse, I may say something I will regret. Something cruel, inhumane.” The ribbons tangled up in his fingers, threatening to spill onto the floor dusted with dirt dragged from the sparring ring. 

“It is a silly thought, perhaps.” It took him a moment, but Dimitri managed to lift his head, a sad smile masking the fear on his face. “But if he sees you with a braid like his, maybe he will see the Dimitri he knew is not wholly dead.”

\---

Byleth played with the end of the ribbons, well surpassing the length of his hair to rest just past his shoulder. He had yet to figure out if the resemblance to Sothis was a coincidence, or fate finding a new fun way to laugh at him. Either way, the proud smile that had lit up Dimitri’s face after using his own hair band to tie off a successful braid made the discomfort worth it. 

Byleth wished he could paint that smile back on the prince’s face, who was at the very least managing not to violently wobble as he tended to do when under stress. Instead, he stood stiff beside Byleth, donned in newly shining armor and a cloak recently mended by Mercedes to hide the tattered ends. The fur on his shoulders was no longer matted, chunks of red stains trimmed or brushed under clean patches, the result of Annette and Ashe’s teamwork. His ponytail had been given up for the sake of Byleth’s braid, but Dedue had managed to tame the blonde mess enough for it to fall in soft ribbons down his jaw and neck. A new lance kept him upright, held to his side like a scepter. An untarnished silver one, gifted by Sylvain, polished by Ingrid and sharpened by Felix despite his insistence that he “absolutely wasn’t going to help with the boar’s ridiculous make-over.”

He was, once more, terribly proud of his students for doing such a fantastic, touching job. And he was proud of Dimitri, for having accepted their aid, not with begrudging reluctance, but with a determination to aid them himself. 

And what a proud king their little lion pride devised, towering above even his old commander, a true ruler prepared to meet with the leader of the Leicester Alliance. A competent, strong, strikingly beautiful king, ready to guide his people into a time without war. 

And they said Claude was the master of deception.

“Byleth, I think I am going to pass out.”

“No you won’t. Remember, you’re a powerful king.” 

_“Byleth this isn’t going to work.”_

A small hiss from the gathering of Faerghus knights behind them. “If you could trick people into thinking you’re human for a whole school year, you can do it for a day, boar.”

“Felix, you’re not helping,” was Byleth’s response to that, eyeing the way Dimitri’s jaw clenched.

“We will support you, Your Highness,” rumbled from Dimitri’s other side. 

“Dedue, you’re helping. Everyone be more like Dedue, please.” 

“Byleth, please, perhaps we should reconsider this meeting—”

Dimitri’s worries were silenced by a sharp whistle rising from the maw of the monastery, as the patter of horses cantering clapped against the old marketplace stones. Ashe came into view first, on horseback with bow in hand, while Ingrid carried her proud lance unmounted from a few feet to his right. Sandwiched between them, but a couple paces back, was a collection of unrecognizable figures of all shapes and colors. 

Byleth’s eye locked onto the approaching class, picking out familiar gaits and voices floating on the wind that felt like ghosts haunting him from the past. As the figure in the lead came more into view, Byleth could feel his own self-confidence dwindle, doubt piercing him like an arrow in the back. 

His cape reflected the sunlight in brilliant flashes of gold, as Claude peered up at the prince and his professor, one hand rising to rest on his hip and the other giving a single, two fingered salute. “Well, look at that. Everyone’s coming back from the dead, just to say hello.” He chuckled to himself, voice smooth as honey and smile not betraying a single truth.

“Now what have you two been up to all this time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so here comes the challenging part. I now am going to have to keep track of a LOT of people's lore. Please, let me know if I mess something up canon-wise, especially if its important! Obviously I have to twist some stuff to make the fic make sense, but if it's something I can retroactively fix, I'll try. :D
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!


	23. Don't Poke The Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, I'm back!  
Sorry for the long wait again. Partially due to my work load at school, and partially due to something that happened that really shot my confidence in my writing and kept me from working on this. So, I really do hope ya'll enjoy this update. Also, I've actually got another one-shot story going (also Dimileth, because yknow. It's fun.) that will eventually get posted once I pass one final hurdle.

The gaggle of Golden Deer halted as their leader slowed, hand held up in signal as he hopped the last step with charismatic energy. Ashe and Ingrid maintained a close eye beside him, but their relaxed stances betrayed the little suspicion they had for the collection of ex-classmates. While Claude was worth keeping an eye on, not one of the Blue Lions—save for their skittish king—could truly fear the deer. Byleth watched as little smiles and winks passed between the more sociable of the two groups, while others leaned to mutter inaudible commentary about the situation. For as stiff and formal as he was expecting this meeting to go, he had to concede even in this timeline, the fawns had yet to lose their sense of fun. 

Byleth found himself distracted as he observed the big and little differences in the Deer the same way he had done the Lions, trying to recall the little details of that particular class. Hilda stood at the front, leaning against the muscular mountain that was Raphael as if she was too lazy to even stand up herself. Her pigtails had yet to settle in the place they would be once they met on the battlefield, the ties hanging them unusually low at the moment. Marianne hid behind Ignatz, still growing out of her reservedness. Leonie was nursing a wound on her arm that Byleth knew wouldn’t end up leaving a scar. Lysithea looked much the same, already dawned in her purple veil, and was one of the few with her eyes trained on the Lions as more threat than ally. Lorenz still looked painfully ridiculous, his natural state.

And Claude, his uniform neatly pressed despite the journey and his well-trimmed face as handsome as any would come, was the perfect picture of the Alliance’s regient duke. Even if he was still a year-plus-some early in his arrival. 

His bemused whistle pulled Byleth from his reminiscing, as a pair of emerald eyes scanned him up and down. “Been a while, huh, Teach? You look like you haven’t aged a day, you should really share your skin-care routine with me some time.” The clean white flash of his grin really drove home how much Byleth had grown used to people in his life (Dimitri) looking a bit on the rougher side (like shit). 

“Thank you for coming to meet with us, Claude, considering the risks. And for bringing everyone with you, as you mentioned.”

“Yeah, and it was a pain in the ass to get them here too.” Claude chuckled, shooting a glance back at his group. “I’m good at excuses, but getting Lorenz and Lysithea here considering where their family’s loyalties are leaning was a challenge even for me. Now.” 

With no interest in elaborating further, Claude gave a sharp clap that elicited a subtle jolt from the figure looming over him, and turned on his heel to peer up at Dimitri. “I’d quite like to know, Your Princeliness, how you’ve been fairing.” His head cocked to the side, leaning in with bravery that could only come from cluelessness, as Byleth had not wanted to add a warning to Claude’s invitation specifying not to poke the lion. “If I were to wager an educated guess,” Claude continued, “I would guess, ‘fucking terrible’. Don’t worry, I’d look a bit rough too if I was executed and dead for, what? Three, four years now?” His tone oozed humor, only slightly obscuring his burning curiosity for why the Faerghus prince was currently in front of him, and missing an eye Claude was fairly certain he had the last time he’d left him. 

Byleth hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. He saw Ashe shift closer to Claude’s back, arm raised just enough that Claude could be yanked out of the way to safety. He heard the gentle rustling of sleeves and coats brushing as hands reached for sword hilts.

Trust was hard to build. Byleth knew that. A couple of friendly meals and shed tears doesn’t hide how quickly the light could get plucked from their prince’s eye. 

“...Surprise.”

Claude smothered a smirk when he heard the collective exhale from the group ahead of him, growing more aware of the danger the Lions thought he was in. Instead, he focused more on the icy expression staring down at him. The response would have been light-hearted, had it been delivered without a raspy grumble and the tightened grip on his lance. “One hell of a surprise, buddy,” Claude shrugged, leaning back and out of easy skewering range. “Glad you’re not dead.” 

With that, Claude pivoted back towards Byleth, that same curious smirk remaining plastered on his face. “Your move now, Teach. I brought my class,” Claude made a sweeping gesture as if Byleth was also missing an eye or two, “Just like you asked. I believe you owe me transportation fees. You planned to pay in information, was it? Something you promised oh-so-cryptically that would answer all those burning childhood questions I didn’t tell you about that I supposedly had—”

“Rhea is the Immaculate One.” Byleth interjected. Claude’s animated gestures froze as though Marianne had caught him in a Blizzard. Green eyes shot to meet a lighter pair. 

“Would you like to hold The Sword of the Creator? It’s made of the bones of the goddess.” Byleth’s deadpan silenced any uproar that was bubbling up amongst the visitors. “Crest Stones are the hearts of Sothis’ children. It’s a shame I can’t introduce you to Sothis properly, you both have the same pentiant for mockery. Unfortunately her soul has bonded with mine, and I promised everyone I wouldn’t use her powers to time travel again. I did use her powers to wake up from a three year nap at the bottom of a ravine, though. Sorry about that.”

A distant hoot floated far above as silence hung between the two groups. Capes competed to flap the loudest as the last of winter blew off the mountains. Byleth very much wanted to pry Claude’s eyes away from him, and he wanted to pry the silver rod out of the hand he could hear scraping its claws anxiously against the metal.

“Time,” a small giggle rose up out of Claude. “Time travel.” His saccharine smile made for a poor mask, Byleth thought. His smile could never reach his eyes, and so failed to cover the panicked shock inside of them. “You got me. I wasn’t expecting that one.”

\---

“You dragged us all the way out here and risked our lives and the lives of our families over _information_.”

“Okay, but have you considered: It’s _really good information._”

“It could have been a trick, you fool! You told us we were offered soldiers!”

“And we were,” Claude beamed back up at the flawlessly moisturized, miserable face above him, “if you give me a couple more minutes.” Lorenz huffed and retreated, sinking back into the rest of the rowdy deer, all eager to interrogate Claude’s motivations and exactly why they were back at Garreg Mach. Why they thought Claude of all people would break under the pressure of slightly-louder-than-average questioning would remain to be seen. 

Byleth watched the chaos from the doorway, contemplating when he should interject and reveal he’s been standing there for the last two minutes. Claude was contemplating the same. Convenient for both of them, someone else had no time to contemplate.

“Get out.”

Without being raised much more than the voices bouncing about within the room, Dimitri’s low rumble silenced them with a startle that rippled all the way to Byleth, whose face snapped up to see his partners’ shadow casting over him. He had spoken fewer than a dozen words since they had all led Claude and his compatriots into the monastery, leaving them in a dilapidated Golden Deer classroom the Lions had attempted to clean with frantic purpose the day before. The words that he had spoken were sharp and cold. Byleth knew it was just a self-defense mechanism, one he was certain made Dimitri just as uncomfortable as everyone else. The others didn’t know that. 

Claude found the whole situation to be uncanny, uncomfortable and unpredictable. Dimitri’s voice only added to the effect. The proper little prince never spoke like a king. He never drew the attention of Claude’s classmates, nigh impossible to wrangle into place. Yet, there he watched the hesitant shuffles start, eyes glancing back at him in concern for his safety, not theirs. He met them the only way he knew how, assuaging their fears with a smug little smile and wave that was nothing more than his fingers wiggling. He wasn’t scared of Dimitri, or his apparent time-travelling professor. But he had no way of promising nothing would happen, and that alone put him more on edge than he would like to show. 

Byleth stepped out of the way of the leaving students, tugging Dimitri to the side with him. He hoped the prince would relax once the population in the room dwindled to three, so he allowed the little exodus. “Ashe is making dinner for everyone in the dining hall,” Byleth added as he tugged Hilda’s sleeve to get her attention. “I’m sure he’d appreciate some help.” 

Hilda’s eyes remained fixed on the looming figure behind Byleth. “...’Kay, I’ll get someone right on that.” She snatched up Marianne’s hand behind her and sped up her pace. Byleth watched them go. A dejected sigh huffed behind him. 

“Come on in, Teach, I’ve pulled up a seat and everything!” Claude called from within the room, gesturing to one of the only things left that looked like it had once been a chair. Someone had once known of Claude’s tendency to get his hands on documents he shouldn’t know about. The result left Golden Deer one of the more ransacked rooms in the monastery, no matter how intensely they swept away the rubble. Byleth entered, his nearly seven-foot shadow following him. 

“So,” Claude drawled, leaning his chair back so the front legs popped up off the ground. “Time-travel?”

“I was trying to stop the war.” Byleth sat, uncomfortably stiff. 

“I bet it’s a long story.” Byleth nodded a yes. Claude continued, “And I expect you to tell me all the juicy details, but I’d rather a cup of tea and a cozy fireplace for that story. Right now seems more a business-talk kinda time, right?” His fake smile was laced with a familiar exhaustion. Early as Byleth was, it was a smile that had seen almost four years of war. “You still trying to stop that war?”

“We want an alliance.” The statement felt foreign on Byleth’s tongue. It wasn’t something he had ever uttered. He didn’t even think he was the one meant to ask for it, but from the way Dimitri stiffened behind him it wasn’t likely the leader of this miniature army was going to manage spitting the request out. 

Claude leaned forward again, propping his head up with his palm. “And what amazing allies the Alliance gains, a whole nine people.” His smile curled in light disdain. “Teach, I know you and His Pseudo-Majesty are strong, but the two of you aren’t an army. And that’s what my people are risking a real fight with. Two fancy pointy sticks and a spicy bedtime story isn’t enough to risk bringing the Empire’s wrath in full force.” 

“I said I want an alliance, Claude,” Byleth continued, keeping his voice level. Calm. Far away from all the self-doubt creeping up his back. The end of this war was speeding closer, and it was draped in gold and red. “I never said who the alliance would be fighting.”

“I’m sorry, is there a fourth army I should know about?”

“Yes, actually.”

Claude paused. And he blinked. And he groaned. “Wait, do those shady guys have an army?”

“Yep.”

“The ones that pretended to be Tomas and Monica and that killed your dad and stuff?”

“Thanks for the reminder, and yes.”

“Shit.” Claude ran a hand through his hair, eyes distant and pulling together plans on the fly. Byleth admired his quick reactions to mind-shattering revelations. It was refreshing. “How’d you know that? Is that a time-travel thing?”

Byleth nodded. “Your class was the only one to stop them fully, too. Only ones I saw that stopped them, at least. I figure Hubert had his own plans, but I never stuck around with Edelgard long enough to see that issue resolved.” Dimitri jerked forward hard enough to shift Byleth’s seat. Byleth slipped his hand to the side, and it was taken in a crushing grip. He wished there was some way to convince Dimitri he wasn’t leaving. If hand-crushing was a way, Byleth would cope with the bruises.

Claude’s eyes darted to Byleth’s hand, taking note while being caught up in a much more upsetting line of thought. “You taught us?”

“A couple times.” Byleth met vulnerable green eyes. It wasn’t often Claude let that facade slip, and Byleth didn’t care to see pain behind it. A sense of loss there that Claude couldn’t even remember. Byleth gave that soft smile all the lords had cherished in their own ways. “You lot were always kind, and funny. And always strong, whether or not I was there.” 

“And you left us?”

“I left everyone.” Byleth sucked in a breath, partially to calm his nerves and partially because Dimitri tightened his grip again and it hurt. “Which is why I’m bringing everyone back together again. Off the battlefield this time.”

“To stop the war, huh?” Claude had long since broken into a frown. 

Byleth swallowed. It was his turn to squeeze his prince’s hand. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just moving the target. I just,” Byleth struggled to meet Claude’s eyes. He wished Claude would realize Byleth had just as much trouble telling the truth. “I’m just trying to keep you all alive. I failed every other time, and that’s why I left.”

“Sounds pretty selfish to me, Teach.”

“It’s a very selfish dream,” Byleth laughed weakly. “Don’t you know what it’s like to have one of those?”

It was Claude’s turn to avert his eyes. “Would’ve accomplished it pretty easy if I could time-travel, I’d think.”

“You’d think that, huh.” 

“Guess it doesn’t work out the way.” Claude sighed, leaning back once more. His head hung over the back of the chair, his handsomely messy brown hair falling out of his face. “Everyone, you said.” He raised his head just enough to peek at Byleth’s face. It was easier to read than he remembered. It was anxious. And guilty. “You know the moment you manage to get a hold of the Knights of Seiros, Edelgard’s gonna figure out who’s really camping out here. If she hasn’t already.”

“That’s why I asked you guys to hurry.” Byleth leaned forward, “I bet you know where they are better than I do.”

“Out looking for Rhea, obviously. You really want to bring them here? I thought you were trying to end this war, instead you’re just bringing it straight to the monastery.”

“Only a little bit.” Byleth smiled again, just a little confident thing to trick himself and the trickster in front of him. “We need messengers for our peace offering, after all.”

Claude’s eyes widened, and then they shot directly over to Dimitri. He didn’t know the full story—that would be one of the first story requests for later—but he’d fought within earshot of him during that first attack on the monastery. A whole lot of bloodthirsty raving was just about the last memory he’d had of the earnest little noble boy. “You’re going to try to ally with the person who betrayed just about all of us, is currently trying to take over Fódlan, and probably wants all of us dead.” 

“Yes,” Byleth started, before Claude raised his hand and cut him off.

“I wasn’t asking you, Teach.”

Byleth glanced back, feeling the hand in his go slack. He tightened his own grip, keeping Dimitri from swaying too far to the left. He couldn’t tell if that cloudy blue eye was seeing anything.

“She doesn’t need to die, either.”

\---

With one of certainly many Byleth debriefings scheduled for later in the evening, Claude sauntered off from the dining hall. He wasn’t all that hungry, and his deer were having plenty of fun teasing the lions without his help. Byleth had snuck off to do more work alone, which left him with one obvious mission. He would have to thank Hilda later for keeping Dedue so helplessly trapped in the kitchen. Throwing Raphael at the best cook in Garreg Mach history was a conniving trick, even for her. Either way, it meant he could hunt for beasts in peace.

“Hey,” Claude crooned, drowning out the echo of his footsteps in the cathedral. “So here’s where the big guy’s hiding. You were never one for big gatherings, were you?” 

Dimitri jolted, the sound of metal clattering against the tile he was sitting on. He knew it was a poor hiding spot, but Byleth had said he needed space alone to think and the cathedral was a familiar place to withdraw. He snatched up his dagger, sheathing it back at his hip. It was a dangerous thing to fidget with in dangerous company. But it was a piece of Byleth, and Byleth kept him sane. 

And now he didn’t have Byleth, and now he was alone with Claude. Which was much worse than anything else before. 

“Sorry for startling you, buddy. Mind if I sit with you for a bit? Promise I don’t bite. Promise you won’t either?” Claude laughed like it was a joke, but Dimitri figured it really wasn’t.

“Fine.”

“Ah, so curt.” Dimitri forced himself to untense as Claude took a seat next to him, peering to try and catch a glimpse through the mess of hair that had long since lost the brush work Dedue had done on it. “We’re friends, remember?”

Dimitri didn’t answer. Claude knew he remembered. 

Claude leaned back on his hands, looking out at the rubble spilling out around them. Small dents had been made where the Lions had been hard at work. “Guess I’ve been a pretty lousy friend, though. I had heard through the grapevine what had happened. I knew the regicide thing was bullshit, even after seeing you when the monastery fell.” Claude looked back over, willing Dimitri to do the same. It didn’t work. Claude was a lousy psychic. “Don’t know if there was much I could’ve done. Voicing support for an imprisoned prince probably would have pissed off the Empire-supporters in the Alliance a bit.”

“It would not have mattered.” Dimitri shifted, his shoulders sagging. Whether he was relaxing or depressed, Claude couldn’t tell. “Cornelia would’ve had me executed regardless of who was there to argue against it.” 

“Yeah, I guess so. Except that didn’t really get rid of the guilt when I heard you’d died.”

A curious eye peeked out of the shadows on Dimitri’s face. “Guilt?”

“Yeah. Guess I realized I didn’t really care about what happened to you. Didn’t affect me or the Alliance any if you died.”

“You shouldn’t care.” Dimitri looked back away, his head tilting down further. “It is your responsibility to care about your country, not mine. And not about me.”

“I guess so. Except the whole thing reminded me of that day we met Teach. I had made a “strategic retreat”, remember?” Dimitri nodded. Claude continued. “I didn’t give a damn if you and Edelgard got killed by those bandits if it meant I got out without a scrape.”

There was a long pause, before Dimitri spoke again. “I was foolish to have chased after you.”

“Nah, it wasn’t your fault. I was selfish. I didn’t care about my country back then, so that’s no excuse. Isn’t even really my country, I figure Teach has let that slip already. Only cared about my own hide, since that’s all I’ve ever known to do. And that isn’t my fault, really, but if I don’t learn to cut that shit out then I really will make a pretty lousy friend. And a pretty lousy leader, according to certain princes.” 

“You make for a better leader than I.”

“Can we agree we both suck, then?” Claude grinned, a lazy grin, the kind of grin that always made people want to listen to him.

“...Fine.”

“Excellent,” Claude chuckled. “Now that brings us to my second point of business.” With daring confidence, he scooted up next to Dimitri and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Congrats on finally snagging Teach, buddy.”

Dimitri wondered if he would ever get to stay relaxed for more than a minute. Claude could probably feel the immediate tensing even under all of the layers of fur and armor, if he couldn’t already see the way his cheeks flushed up. Should he be so easily embarrassed about this still? Probably not, but he had no practice as a teenager so what was he to do now. 

Dimitri swallowed, trying to even out his voice. “Where did you get that idea?”

“You were holding hands earlier, dude.” Claude laughed, leaning his weight further into the nervous wreck next to him. “I wouldn’t always say that isn’t platonic, but you and Teach never struck me as the touchy type.”

Dimitri focused more on the words than Claude’s invasion of his personal space. But it was eating at the back of his head and making his fingers twitch and it was getting harder to hide. “Unlike you.”

“You should learn from the best. Be more daring.”

“I will pass.” He held his hands together to keep them from reaching for the dagger.

“Pass? You passed up everything! Every opportunity! At least I offered Teach a dance at that old ball.”

“He looked very uncomfortable.” So uncomfortable. Get off.

Claude scoffed, elbowing Dimitri’s side. He didn’t notice the prince’s grit of the teeth as he jeered at him. “Oh, so you really were watching, huh? Good, I had worked so hard to lead him into your line of sight.”

“Why.” Go away.

“Because everyone with half a brain could tell you were head-over-heels for the guy.” More leaning. Go away. “I’m just such a thoughtful wingman, figured if I got you jealous you’d actually get up the nerve to ask.”

His response came out more a hiss than he intended. “Some of us can tell when another is uncomfortable.” Go away. Go away. Go away. 

“Excuses, excuses. You were always just scared. Was it Byleth that had to make a move now?” Claude grinned, getting up only to drape himself over Dimitri’s back, his arms hanging loosely over his shoulders. “All these years later, and still making your Professor do all the hard work for you?”

It’s just teasing. He wants a reaction. He wants to see what happens. It’s just Claude. It’s just Claude. Claude needs to leave. He needs to get off. Get off. “_Get off._”

“It’s a shame, if he really did teach our class once instead of yours. You gotta wonder what was different. Maybe he’s forgotten what he gave up.” Claude pushed some of Dimitri’s hair away from his ear, making sure his conspiratorial mutter would be heard. “Maybe I should show Teach how a real noble courts, eh?” 

Claude was fast, and he knew what he was doing. He blinked, and he was pinned against the cold cobblestone below. He knew what he was doing, and he knew well when he made a mistake.

Dimitri had one clawed hand gripping Claude’s shirt in a fist that threatened to rip the beige fabric apart, the other clutching his throat. His voice came out in a growl he couldn’t hear through the blood rushing to his head. “_He’s mine. He’s mine and you don’t touch him. He’s mine!_” 

“Dammit!” Claude instinctively scratched at the hand at his throat, kicking up at an unfortunately armored chest, choking out any response that would snap the beast back out of it. “I was teasing—!” 

The hand only gripped tighter, a snarl dripping out of lips curled against bared teeth. “Tease me with a broken windpipe.”

His vision fuzzing, Claude managed to suck in enough breath to answer back, “Kill me and you’ll ruin Teach’s plans—!”

It was the prince’s turn to sneer, leaning down enough that Claude could feel the heat coming off of him, and the tears dripping off his cheeks and onto Claude’s. “Then I’ll change them. I’ll kill you, I’ll kill Edelgard, I’ll kill the church, _I’ll kill every last one of them if it keeps Byleth from leaving me again_.” 

It still didn’t sound like him. Claude hated it. He never spoke like a king, and he never spoke like a killer. He spoke like a broken man that Claude stepped on and made another crack. 

How do you fix that? How do you talk to a stranger trying to kill you? 

“Byleth’s hair,” Another wheeze. He needed just a bit longer. “Looked nice, today…” 

Another wheeze. The grip loosened. A cough, a gag, and suddenly the weight had fallen off of Claude and stumbled back in fear. 

Claude stayed on his back, blinking the stars out of his eyes and forcing air back into his throat. He thought he heard a whine, but his breathing drowned it out. It could have been from himself. It probably wasn’t, though. 

“You,” Claude began in a soft voice that was mostly out of necessity, “You did it yourself, right?”

No response. He could hear the sound of scratching against hair and skin. He would feel worse, but the growing bruises on his neck kept the sympathy low. “You remembered what I taught you.”

No response.

“It’s still you in there, right? I bet you figured something like this would happen.” Claude coughed, a breathy laugh breaking through. “You have crazy strength too. Could’ve snapped me in two. That was probably you trying to hold back.”

No response. Claude finally sat up, wincing. Getting slammed into stone can’t possibly be good for one’s back. “You didn’t mean to do that, huh.”

For as intimidating as he was a moment before, it was hard to imagine the pale man curled into himself was the same person. Claude could barely make out the eye peering out between hands covering his face and digging repentant nails into his skin. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, hoarse and terrified. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I messed up, I didn’t mean to, I messed up, I messed up I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—”

“Hey hey hey look, look over here, you didn’t kill me.” Claude waved his hands for emphasis. “Gave me a hell of a scare, guess I am a bit afraid of you after all. Congrats, you finally shook the unshakeable Riegan.”

Dimitri made an ungodly whine and dragged his nails down his face. That was the wrong answer. Damn.

“We don’t have to tell the others this happened, if you don’t want. We don’t have to tell Teach.” Claude shrugged, feigning indifference. “I mean, I poked the lion. I wanted to see how unhinged you got. Curiosity got the cat eaten. This is sorta on me, right?”

“It’s my fault I’m dangerous I’m sorry I thought I was better I’m sorry I’m sorry this was a mistake—”

You’re telling me, Claude thought. Not telling the others what happened wouldn’t work anyways. Hilda already knew why Claude was sneaking off, and a rendevouz with a not-so-handsome prince that ended in bruises on his neck was not the scandal Claude wanted in his political career at the moment.

This was a messy situation, and for once Claude didn’t know how to weasel himself out of it. That facade those Lions had constructed was paper-thin at best, and it was putting anyone who miss-stepped in danger. Including Byleth. Just how aware was he of this possessive streak?

And yet, Claude knew he’d made his misstep on purpose. He’d seen the way everyone walked on eggshells around the prince, he’d felt the way he’d tensed the more he prodded, he heard the warning and ignored it. He’d noticed the peace-offering in the form of hair and ribbons and turned a blind eye.

Selfish. Selfish selfish selfish. The both of them. 

Fuck. What does he do now?

“Claude?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“Ah, hey Teach. Found your boyfriend for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, sorry to end ya'll on such a heavy note. It kinda sucks to have to write Dimitri going backwards a little bit, but having him go through all of this without a hitch didn't seem honest. Albeit this is a bit of a big hitch but ya'll got a bunch of cute shit in the last chapter so suffer.
> 
> Also! Regarding Claude. I like Claude a lot. But one thing I see the fandom do is kinda... write off Claude's flaws? And while I love a man who's ready to delete racism, I think pretending like he doesn't have his own issues is a disservice to his character. For me, I always saw his biggest flaw being his selfishness. In the end he's often motivated by his own desires, and its just lucky that those desires are good. But at the same time he's quick to abandon people or mess with people when it suits his own interests. I think it's an interesting trait to look at, and also use to look at Dimitri and Byleth's own selfishness at the same time. 
> 
> Anyways I hope ya'll don't mind that and understand that I really don't want Claude to come across as a bad guy. He just fucks up sometimes, and so does Dimitri. And so does Edelgard. But her time will come. Oh, her time will come.


	24. Take Me To Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINISHED BEFORE THE END OF THE MONTH. HUZZAH.
> 
> I'm tryin' to keep these updates regular my dudes, I'm doin' my best haha. Mental health and school has been killing me. 
> 
> Also I changed my usernames recently, so all my social medias (twitter, tumblr and instagram) are under Horobinota-Arts (or Horobinota_Arts, depending). I post when I update on those sites, as well as any other going ons and my artwork. :D

The Knights of Seiros were on their way within the week. 

Byleth couldn’t have been more thankful to have Claude on his side. He’d already had a vague idea of where they might find their green-haired compatriots, but having the eyes and ears of the Alliance to back it up made things move so much faster. He had to thank Ingrid, too. Acting as an express messenger was exhausting and dangerous even in disguise, but she always lived up to the description of “knightlier than most knights”.

Between the stress of another impending reunion later in the day, and the way the morning sunlight cut through his window and made the air thick and hot in his room, it was all Byleth could do to thrash about in his bed and stare at the ceiling. He had long since thrown off the tunic he slept in, lying sweaty on top of the sheets in nothing but shorts. At least he could do so without worrying about embarrassing Dimitri. 

It wasn’t worth the restless sleep though. Sleeping alone seemed impossible now.

Claude had explained what happened. He’d done so as casually as he could have managed, but with the self-conscious air of a child telling on himself to a parent. The scratchy just-strangled voice didn’t help, either. 

“Honestly, it was really my fault,” Claude had insisted, speaking low. “I don’t think it’ll happen again, y’know? No one else but me would pull something that stupid.” He’d laughed, and Byleth appreciated it. He wasn’t sure if Claude was trying to avoid causing some perceived rift in the relationship he barely knew about, or if he was just trying to cover for an old friend. But Byleth knew better. And he knew he should be concerned.

He had no idea what to do about it, though. 

Dimitri did, unfortunately. 

Claude had left, and Dimitri took his place, finally on his feet but only barely. His eye was glued to the floor, hands picking at each other, clawing at the leather fabric. All Byleth wanted to ask was if he was okay. 

“You are in charge. Of everything. Of every decision, don’t ask me,” Dimitri began, too fast for Byleth to interject. “I will avoid the others. When the church arrives, don’t let them meet with me.”

“Dimitri, that’s not—”

“It is too dangerous, I am too dangerous. I almost destroyed everything you’ve worked for, and if I did that you would,” His voice trailed off, his big stature shrinking. You would have had to leave again, Byleth knew he was thinking. “I will fight for you if you need me to. Otherwise, it would be best for everyone if I kept my distance.”

“You’re going to avoid me too?” Byleth’s arms hung limp at his sides. He didn’t know what to do. 

Dimitri repeated himself, down to a weak whisper. “It would be best for everyone.”

Byleth’s eyes fell to the floor as well. “Promise me you’ll sleep in your room. Don’t stay out here.” 

Byleth could hear the sniffing Dimitri was trying to repress. He was such an emotional man, it was honestly something Byleth loved about him. Coming from someone who had struggled his entire life to feel, it felt as though Dimitri had enough emotion for the both of them. He would feel incomplete without it. Without him around. 

“I promise.” 

Byleth looked up at the ceiling, listening to any sounds coming from the dorms above his head. The sounds of footsteps shuffling was common now, as more people took up residence in their old rooms. He wondered if Dimitri was keeping his promise. They hadn’t spoken since then. He wasn’t sure if Dimitri had spoken to anyone at all. 

Rumor got around fast. Claude had done his best to hide the bruises, he’d tried not to wince every time he stood up from a chair. But the Deer were nosey, and the Lions were perceptive. With the prince being even more distant than usual, they could all put two and two together. It hurt Byleth’s heart any time he caught a glimpse of Dimitri attempting to slip his bulky body unnoticed into a room, only to have that room hush or vacate within the minute. The first day or two, people would mention seeing him sneaking food out of the pantries, or keeping to the corners of the bathhouse. Now it seemed he kept out of sight by doing such activities at night. At least, that’s what Byleth figured after Lysithea ranted the next morning for him “having tricked her into seeing a ghost.”

Byleth was happy Dimitri hadn’t slipped so far back as to stop taking care of himself. But that was just about the only thing he could be happy with. A part of him was mad. Mad at himself for not being there, mad at Claude for being Claude, mad at Dimitri for being Dimitri. But he was mostly mad at the others. Mad at them for letting their fear get the better of them. He knew they were better than that. But he also knew he couldn’t blame them. Not even in another run had the Blue Lions seen their leader attack anyone who wasn’t a soldier. Now they sat with the knowledge he tried to kill an ally, and they didn’t know how to deal with it, just like Byleth didn’t know how to deal with it, and it made everyone scared and sad and angry. 

A knock at the door snapped Byleth back out of his malaise. 

“Professor, when you are ready, I would like to talk to you.” Dedue, bright and early as usual. Byleth sighed, and forced himself up into a sitting position. 

“I’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Of course.”

He heard the heavy footsteps back away from the door. Of all the people who didn’t deserve to deal with Byleth’s misery, it was him. He had enough of Dimitri’s to deal with as it was. He was the only one who could get anywhere near the prince right now, given said prince knew how futile it was to force away his retainer. He’d probably given an order for distance, but that didn’t stop Dedue from keeping a constant eye on where Dimitri had retreated. Byleth thanked him frequently for it, as it removed the fear that Dimitri would run off from the monastery itself.

Byleth slid off his bed and dressed himself, hand hovering over the fur cloak he’d slung across the back of his desk chair. It was growing more uncomfortable to wear as the temperature rose, and today was looking unusually warm. His eyes moved from the fur to the pile of ribbons no longer braided into his hair. The braid had grown too messy to keep together. Claude had noticed and offered to fix it, and Byleth had respectfully declined. Now the ribbons rested on top of Dimitri’s journal, which Byleth had paged through last night. It had only made him feel worse. Holding on to it might feel worse too. Byleth left it on his desk, and walked to the door.

Dedue turned at the sound of the door opening, arms folded behind his back. “Good morning, Professor. I came to inform you that the Knights of Seiros are supposedly a few hours from arriving at the monastery.”

“Thanks, Dedue. Is everyone else aware?”

“Yes.” Dedue was doing his best not to be obvious about how he eyed the bags under Byleth’s eyes, or the way his normal black cloak hung crooked on his shoulders. “We also have a scout rotation set up to keep an eye on Imperial soldiers and spies, now with the added risks.”

Byleth nodded. It was possible they would only have a few days before the Empire felt the need to send more than a scouting force to Garreg Mach. Everything was moving fast. Too fast. In all honesty, he didn’t understand how they had yet to have been invaded. It was impossible no spies had come unnoticed. Multiple Faerghus nobles had been gone from their homes for weeks. And now the leader of the Leicester Alliance just decided to take a quick vacation.

Edelgard had to know what was happening. Why she hadn’t made a move yet worried him. Of all the lords, he understood her the least. Or rather, understanding her made him the most uncomfortable.

Dedue saw the strain on Byleth’s face and broke his train of thought as gently as possible. “It will be nice to see Flayn once more. I wonder if her cooking has improved.” Byleth looked up to see the small smile gracing Dedue’s lips, and he felt his shoulders relax instinctively.

“She hasn’t, honestly.”

Dedue chuckled. “I look forward to teaching her again.” 

\---

The arriving knights were ushered into the monastery too quickly for a tearful reunion. Just as well, as the Knights of Seiros weren’t one for tears. Neither the Lions nor the Deer had the same apprehension of new arrivals as they’d had earlier. If anything, they were eager for the added swords and shields. Byleth was not the only one anxious about the eyes of an eagle watching them. 

Byleth didn’t know who else to bring with him to Seteth’s office, so he brought Claude. It felt wrong. It felt wrong to Claude too, but he would never be able to turn down an insider’s conversation no matter how uncomfortable it made him. The two men trailed behind Seteth’s gold-fringed cape, its owner preoccupied, arguing with Flayn over whether or not her presence was needed. Flayn insisted it was, and every time would glance back and wink at Byleth with watery, puffy red eyes that didn’t match her playful smile. Flayn wasn’t a knight, so she could cry.

All four of them found seats in the office, recently cleaned just as other rooms had been before. The Lions were growing faster at this work, even more so with the added help (sans Hilda, to no ones’ surprise). Byleth fidgeted with his hands in his lap. Seteth eyed him expectantly, waiting for the promised explanation. Flayn kicked her legs in the seat too tall for her. Claude remarked to no one in particular that he should have dyed his hair green to fit in today. The pit in Byleth’s stomach was there, weighing him down like every other time he’d told the truth. But this time, the story flowed out of his mouth with no emotion. No guilt, or fear, hardly any sadness, a fair bit of exhaustion but nothing that couldn’t be attributed to the dark circles under his eyes. A part of him was relieved, the lack of emotion was so familiar. Comforting, even. 

Byleth looked up from his hands, absentmindedly noting he had picked so much at the spot between his nail and skin that it had begun to bleed. Still red. He wondered if that would ever change too. 

Seteth leaned back into his chair, hands in his lap and soft, old eyes held at his desk. Flayn did much the same, her slender little fingers twirling in her hair. 

Claude was the first to speak up. “You guys really had no idea, right? It was all just Rhea.”

Seteth tensed, a deep frown fracturing his face. He was reluctant to look at Byleth, and Byleth could tell. “I had an idea,” he mumbled, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I should have pushed her harder to tell me. I could have done something to stop it.”

Byleth shook his head, but didn’t force Seteth to raise his eyes. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“We never wanted control of Fódlan. We never meant to cause such pain.”

“I know.”

“She just wanted to see her again. We all did.”

“I know.” 

Flayn’s soft soprano came from Byleth’s right. “Was Edelgard right, Professor?” She fidgeted with lace at the end of her dress, more tears threatening to spill over already red cheeks. “Are we the bad guys?”

Byleth sensed Claude’s grimace off to his side, feeling the uncomfortable insecurity that plagued everyone involved in this war. The fear that they would end up on the wrong side of history. Byleth himself could not even guarantee that, in the long term, an ending where Edelgard won wouldn’t be the best of the four outcomes he’d seen. 

“I don’t know if anyone in this war are good guys, Flayn,” Byleth responded, speaking with as much sincerity as he could pull forth. He was coming to terms with the fact he may be the worst of them all, but that was not pain he wished on any of his students. Least of all a gentle soul like hers. 

Claude added, a frustrated smile pasted on his face. “We weren’t the ones who started this war in the first place, anyways. This might be calling the kettle black, but she could have talked to us before she started trying to kill us.”

“I do not think a single person, be it the young lords or the church, who would completely disagree with her. Rhea included.” Seteth finally looked up at Byleth, his hands folded tightly in front of him. “The Church of Seiros may have benefitted from the noble systems and government fracturing, but in the end we only wished to care for the people of Fódlan, just as Sothis wished for us to do. And the existence of crests that vexes Edelgard pain us to an even greater degree, as you would know.”

“Y’know,” Claude mused, “none of this might have happened if the church had been a little more transparent, a little less constantly and unrepentantly shady.”

Seteth huffed softly, but with no energy to really argue with what was the truth. “I made my own mistakes in the service of this institution. It is all I can do now to aid you all in ending this war before it gets worse.”

“Are we still going to rescue Rhea?” Flayn added with an anxious whisper. “Professor said she’s being held prisoner in Enbarr, yes? Surely if we meet Edelgard in battle soon we will be able to rescue her, and then make her set things right!”

“We won’t be fighting Edelgard.”

“Pardon?”

Byleth glanced at Claude, the last detail of his ever growing story sat unsaid. “Claude said it himself. If she talked to us, the war might never have happened. We agree with her fundamentally, just not in her methods.”

“Are you suggesting we try to talk with her. Nearly four years after a declaration of war, you think you can change her mind?” Seteth raised an eyebrow, skepticism hanging on every word. 

“I don’t know,” Byleth admitted. “I’ve never tried it. But I’ve also never managed to get a long term alliance between Faerghus and Leicester, I’ve never gotten the Knights to the monastery a year early, and I’ve never told anyone I can time travel before either.” Byleth took a breath, reaching for whatever dregs of determination sat underneath the weighty pit in his stomach. “I want her to know that this time it’s not one professor and one student desperately trying to end the fighting. I want her to know that it’s all of us reaching out to her, and hearing her, and bringing her back to a path someone that brilliant and kind should be walking. I don’t think we’ll change her mind, but maybe we can change her direction.”

“And change her enemy,” Claude added. “Why try to take over a continent that another group is actively trying to destroy in the meanwhile? Byleth already told me creepy ‘ol Hubert knows about the Agarthans. We’re offering Adrestria an easy chance to get rid of them. If she really cares about Fódlan more than she cares about power, I’d think she’d at least consider it. Maybe even meet with us, a fun little class reunion.”

Seteth’s eyes passed around the room. He looked terribly unsure, even as Flayn rose from her seat and symbolically stomped over to Byleth. 

“I’ll support you Professor. Just like during the Academy. I still owe you my life, after all.” She smiled, and the pit in Byleth’s stomach lightened. 

“Fine,” Seteth sighed, shaking his head. “Fine. We will assist you in getting into contact with Edelgard. We will need to find a way to prove that it is truly all of us who are here, though.”

“I have an idea for that,” Byleth responded. 

“And one other thing.”

“Yes?”

Seteth glanced at the closed door, and then at Claude, and then at the enigma of a young man in front of him. “You said when you woke up, the first person you found was Dimitri.”

Claude’s grimace was back. Byleth glanced at the door himself. “Yes. And before you ask, he’s already agreed to this plan too.”

“Then where is he?”

\---

“There you are, boar.”

Felix frowned at the sound of a porcelain cup cracking, Dimitri jolting a near foot into the air from where he was leaning against the Goddess Tower’s balcony. He wasn’t even being particularly loud, but Dimitri’s own rambling thoughts tended to drown out most other sounds when he wasn’t careful. He glanced over his shoulder, hesitant to properly address the unexpected visitor. 

“Hello, Felix,” he said with complete apprehension, bracing himself for the tirade. He deserved as much, it was a wonder no one had come to yell at him before now. He would be lucky if all Felix wanted was to call him a boar and leave. That he instead hoisted himself onto the balcony railing was not a good sign.

“Stop breaking our damn dinnerware, we only have so much to work with,” Felix grumbled, watching Dimitri try to wipe away the broken shards with his boot. The cup was already empty, at least. “Especially now with all these new people here.”

“My apologies, you startled me.” Dimitri kept his eye to the floor, though there was no more porcelain there to watch for. His voice fell flat against the stone.

“What are you even doing up here? Having a tea party with the voices in your head?”

Well, yes. Not by choice, of course. They tended to invite themselves wherever he went. “I thought it would help. 

“With what, your moping?” Felix scoffed, folding his arms and looking down his nose at him. He had a habit of finding ways to make himself taller than other people, and it usually involved climbing tall platforms like a cat. Four years ago it would have made Dimitri giggle. 

Dimitri glanced up at him, the shadows cast by disheveled bangs making his eyes look even darker than they already were. “With sleeping.”

“Oh, does the beast feel guilty now?” 

Yes. “I have had insomnia since I was a teenager, Felix,” he growled, wavering between exhaustion and frustration. He kept his hands tight to the remaining bits of teacup in his hands, creating more cracks that slithered along the surface. “Not as if you ever cared to notice.”

Felix clicked his tongue, glancing off at the distant mountains. A good excuse not to meet any eyes. “I had my own problems, if you remember.”

“Hardly. I offered my ear to you dozens of times and you refused.”

“What kind of help would I get from you, boar? Were you going to stab my problems away? Lop off their heads?”

Another chunk of cup snapped off and clattered to the floor. “Did you come here specifically to test my patience?”

“Maybe,” Felix sneered. “Maybe I came to test if the class pet could play well with others again.”

“I am well aware of the risks I pose, you do not need to come here to remind me.” Dimitri forced himself back closer to one of the brick walls, putting enough space between himself and his apparent tormenter. It would be so easy to shove Felix backwards, off the railing. So easy, with no chance of recovery. The thought was horrifying. “I am keeping myself apart from the others for a reason.”

Felix leaned forward, the wind pulling stray black hairs across his face. Just one little push would shut him up.

“So you’ve finally accepted what you are then? Just a threat to the rest of us, to our futures, the futures we’ve been fighting for your sake? Nothing but a miserable, unhinged beast—”

_“Say my name, Felix!”_ Dimitri snarled, shattering the tea cup in his hands and letting the pieces cascade to the floor. 

_“You have no name!”_ Felix hissed back, hate and pain reflecting in his eyes. 

“My name is Dimitri!” He stomped forward, crushing the porcelain shards under his foot with a crunch that sounded too much like breaking bone. “Not boar, or beast, or creature or monster!” He could feel his hands twitch, the urge to simply push Felix away forcing his nails to dig into his palms. His snarling dripped bitterness built long before now. “This boar’s name is _Dimitri_, stop pretending he no longer exists!”

“No!” Felix cried, leaning further forward, spit flying from his scowl. “_Dimitri_ died when he was 15, and this bloodthirsty creature has been wearing his face ever since.” Felix shoved himself off the railing, stalking towards Dimitri with his hand held over the sword hilt on his waist. “He died just like everyone else, and I’m the only one who saw it.”

Dimitri pressed himself against the cold stone, anything to keep that safe distance, anything to trap his hands behind his back and away from fragile bodies. Felix’s glare was piercing, and it was watery in a way that brought a sharper pain than neither his blade nor words. He closed his eye for any release, not realizing he’d begun to hold his breath and dig his teeth into his lips. The rage he’d felt a moment before was disintegrating into something more hopeless. 

“Speak, boar!” Scraping metal drowned out the command as Felix pulled his sword from his sheathe, pressing the tip against Dimitri’s chest plate and reflecting it back dully in the black metal. “Tell me I’m wrong!”

He opened his eye and focused on Felix’s blade. He always had the most beautiful swords. It was one that a younger Felix would have pointed to in the marketplace, eyes gleaming and begging a rich prince to buy for him. Dimitri would’ve in a heartbeat, but that is why his father never let him carry around much money. 

Felix’s voice was growing hoarse. “Tell me I’m wrong.” His command had melted away into a subtle plea, one Dimitri had no way of answering. Instead, he sunk to his knees, forcing the sword tip to rest at his throat. 

“I think you are the first person to speak aloud what I have feared for years.” Dimitri felt a sad smile pull at his lips. It was a marvel. He felt relaxed, calm, at a moment of peace. He let his hands fall to his sides, no need to dig ruts into the stone behind him. “You were always good at seeing the truth of things, even if we did not care to listen.”

He missed Byleth, but it was a quiet ache. Byleth would be okay, he had so many others now. So many other, better people. So many people full of life and love just to match him. He would be okay. 

Felix shuffled back, his sword lowering an inch. His voice wavered, Dimitri’s change in demeanor further breaking his resolve. “Get up.”

“I am so sorry. I have caused you and the others so much pain all these years.” Dimitri pressed a couple fingers to the blade, raising it back up.

Felix’s hand never trembled when it wielded a sword. He couldn’t figure out why the blade had started to shake so violently. “Just get up.”

Dimitri smiled, his voice soft and gentle and terrifying. “I understand, Felix. I killed your friend. If revenge will put you at ease, then let me make it up to you.”

The clatter of Felix’s sword falling to the stone between them echoed up into the highest rafters of the tower. It took a moment for Felix to follow it to the floor, his arms clutching at his sleeves instead. 

“You bastard.”

Dimitri pushed the sword away, gentle enough to ensure the blade wouldn’t be scratched by stray stones. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” Felix choked out, his hands tightening and tugging on the fabric beneath it. “Stop always throwing your fucking life away.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” Felix howled, his face locked in a battle with the tears threatening to form. “Stop being like this! Stop hurting people and then apologizing as if it’ll change anything!”

“I just hurt you again, didn’t I?” Dimitri felt his shoulders sink slightly, the peace from a moment before falling back into the same miserable feeling he’d brought with him to the tower when he arrived. 

Felix hissed at his pathetic tone, glaring at him with all the hate and regret and hurt and loss that had built up through both their lives. 

“Why can’t you be normal again?!” 

“I—” Dimitri began, before a pair of hands gripped the fur on his shoulders and pulled the rest of a body in, Felix’s face pressed against him, hiding the tears even if he couldn’t hide the way his voice cracked. 

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize! If you want to apologize, then bring him back! We want our friend back!” Felix whailed, his fists weakly beating against the fur and metal. “I want my Dima back!”

Felix mourned for a long while, and Dimitri let him, because he knew it was the first time Felix had mourned in a long, long time. And Dimitri mourned in silence his own death with him, until he heard Felix’s breath hitch in his throat and his weight lifted off of him. Felix looked to be too startled to fight the thin arms that pulled him back to his feet. 

Dimitri felt his back go rigid and his face pale when a green eye peaked over Felix’s shoulder. His mouth fell agape, motioning words, an explanation that refused to come out. Byleth only shook his head, that green eye soft and sympathetic. 

“I heard him, Dimitri.”

Felix feigned a tugging motion, forcing an act to get away. His cheeks were red and splotchy and unfamiliar to Byleth. Familiar to Dimitri, and gut wrenching. “Let go of me.”

Byleth released his hold, but kept a hand planted firmly on Felix’s back. “I will want to speak with you later.” There was a subtle hostility in his voice that left a chill on Felix’s skin. 

Felix took a step away, inching instinctively towards his abandoned sword. His gold eyes flicked down at Dimitri, hesitant to speak further. “He didn’t touch me.”

“I know, Felix.” Byleth stooped down to retrieve the sword, handing it up to him. 

“I came here to bring him back.”

Byleth stayed down on the ground, one hand resting against Dimitri’s arm. “Was it your idea?”

“It was everyone’s. I went because,” Felix glanced away, a mental debate unfolding within a moment. “Because everyone figured I’d be the only one able to take him if there was a fight.” He was good at telling the truth. But it made him a terrible liar.

“Go on, Felix. Tell everyone he’ll be back in time.”

“Good, we need him for the next step, this war isn’t going to wait.”

Byleth raised a hand to stop him, the same, sad smile he’d given Dimitri now directed at his other problem student. 

“I know that’s not the reason you came up here.”

Felix’s eyes widened, only for his face to snap to the side. Muffled voices floated out from the stairwell leading to the top of the tower. Felix frowned, and made his way to the exit without turning back to either of them. “See you this evening, Professor.” 

He hesitated at the stairwell, and in a moment, he had dashed off into the shadows, his voice joining in with the muffled sounds below. Byleth watched Felix’s figure fade, before he felt himself yanked down into a panicked death grip. Dimitri seemed just as surprised, his clinging coming across more involuntary than anything else.

Byleth wheezed out a chuckle, because it was the only sound he could think to make that wouldn’t force Dimitri into tears. “I’m proud of you.” 

“He was right.”

I’m certain he wasn’t, Byleth thought. “About what?”

“They’re never going to get their friend back. A normal, good friend. A normal person who never considers shoving their friend off a balcony, or breaking their neck, or hurting them in any way, or,” Dimitri trailed off, his breathing growing heavier while Byleth moved his hand up to stroke his cheek. “I thought I was going to kill him. I was going to hurt him. And then I did without even touching him.”

“Dimitri,” Byleth soothed, pulling Dimitri’s gaze to his. “He was already hurt when he came up here.”

“And that’s my fault.”

Byleth shook his head, cupping his face in his hands. “What you went through that caused you so much of this pain was not your fault. And it is not your fault when someone else lashes out at you for changing, just as it is not their fault when you lash out at them. Felix is hurting, everyone is, but that doesn’t mean they can drop that pain on you and expect you to bear it all.”

“I should be able to.”

“You should learn your limits,” Byleth responded, ignoring the hypocritical nagging in his ear. “And you have enough pain to carry as it is. No matter what anyone says, you’re human. Remember?” Dimitri nodded, and Byleth continued. “You’re just a fragile human like everyone else.”

Dimitri leaned a little more weight into Byleth’s hands, his eye drooping. He had slept even less than Byleth this past week, and it showed in the gauntness of his face. “What do I do when I break again, then?”

“You stay with me. With all of us.” He leaned in to rest his forehead against Dimitri’s, feeling warm breaths fall back into a normal rhythm. “I shouldn’t have let you run off alone. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for running away,” Dimitri mumbled, sinking his head into Byleth’s shoulder. There was a long pause before he spoke up once more, only exhaustion left in his voice. “How do you make me feel so safe so quickly?”

Another breathy laugh fell from Byleth’s mouth. “I dunno. I’m magic?”

“A goddess,” Dimitri sighed contentedly. “My goddess.”

Byleth was relieved his face was hidden. Dimitri didn’t need to see his anxious frown. “Your goddess…”

\---

“So how’d it go?” 

“That is the last time I’m ever listening to one of your plans.”

“Hey,” Claude huffed, leaning his chair back so the front legs lifted precariously off the dining hall tile. “My plan didn’t include you going off alone. You were supposed to go with the rest of them! I can’t account for improv.”

The chatter in the dining hall lowered just enough to stop Felix from retorting, instead turning to look at the entrance everyone else’s attention was drawn to. 

“Well look at that, it worked anyways,” Claude grinned. “Hey Teach! Welcome back, Your Princeliness.” 

Dimitri hovered behind Byleth, failing to hide behind a significantly smaller man, looking out like a nervous puppy at the increasingly packed dining hall. Claude called out to them over the din of old classmates laughing, knights arguing, and Seteth’s chastising of no one important (Sylvain), ushering the two to sit at the empty spaces across him. Ashe stumbled up to Dimitri mid-dragging, eagerly announcing Dedue had helped him prepare his favorite meal. Some sticky, thick dish with too much cheese, Felix had mentioned to Claude with mild disgust. It was cute that Felix still remembered, but no one was going to tell Felix that.

“Do you have the letter written?” Byleth asked Claude after taking the seat directly across from him.

“Dated and waiting for the finishing touches, but let’s not worry about that right now. We’ve finally got this whole big happy family together for dinner! What do you think, my dear Lord Blaiddyd?”

Dimitri stifled another jolt and his head popped up from where it was very intently examining the grains of wood in the table and ignoring the otherwise sensory nightmare he didn’t have the energy to cope with. “Oh, uhm, well I,”

“How do you spell that anyways?” Claude leaned in, smiling curiously. “Buuhlll-ayyy-diiid.”

“Uhm, it’s—”

“B-L-A-I-D-D-Y-D. It’s a pain in the ass.” 

All three pairs of eyes shot up to where Felix stood, rolling his eyes and still refusing to take the obviously empty seat. Before anyone could harass him over it, Ashe arrived with four masterfully-balanced plates of Too Much Cheese On Meat. A Faerghus specialty. Felix took his seat and made sure everyone around noticed how much he didn’t want to.

“So, is that really your favorite?” Claude gave a lazy gesture with his fork towards Dimitri’s plate, before noticing he was the only one at the table using it. When did the Blue Lions develop an aversion to silverware?

Dimitri nodded eagerly, a string of cheese already having found a place on his cheek. Byleth muffled a laugh.

“I just ask, ‘cause Felix hasn’t stopped complaining about how disgusting it is. I think it looks great, personally.”

Dimitri’s brow scrunched in confusion for a moment, at least having the decency to swallow before responding. “That is odd. It was one of his favorites, he would ask for it every time he came over to visit.” 

_“Shut up, Dimitri.”_

Had Claude not been caught up in laughter, he would have wondered why Dimitri smiled so brightly for just that moment.


	25. Something About Daggers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone hope ya'll are enjoying quarantine, please take this MASSIVE FUCKIN' CHAPTER to help get you through it. Apologies if there's some proof-reading issues, it's 1 am and I'm shleepy.
> 
> I'll warn you, a solid two/thirds of this is straight fluff because we've had a lot of angst.
> 
> I'm telling you. The alternative chapter title is "Sex Jokes: The Chapter".
> 
> ALSO!! Forgot to add this to the last update, but we got fanart ya'll!!! Some lovely illustrations from Chapter 23 by @diluted_yellow on Instagram!  
https://www.instagram.com/p/B8XiVPQFlm0/  
https://www.instagram.com/p/B8ZjBWUlIwG/ 
> 
> Getting fanart absolutely makes my day so if ya'll ever make any doodles or anything please send them to me, ya'll are so talented!!

“We absolutely do not have time for this!”

“No no no I don’t want to hear it, Teach.” Byleth struggled as Claude, with the aid of Ingrid, Sylvain and Dedue, ushered him out the front gate of the monastery. “And what do you mean we don’t have the time? All we have to do now is sit around and wait for a return letter to arrive.”

Byleth knew for a fact Claude was not planning to just ‘sit around’, but Sylvain interrupted before Byleth could get in a response.

“You’ve been working yourself ragged since we all got here. And knowing you, that’s been going on way before then, too.” Sylvain grinned that obnoxiously bright grin, giving Byleth a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You need a break, buddy.”

Ingrid nodded alongside her old friend, “And you have us to take on some of that work too, Professor. You’re not alone anymore.” Dedue cleared his throat, and Ingrid caught herself. “Or rather, you’ve got more people to lean on.” There was no good way to word it, but Byleth could read between the lines. As much as he loved Dimitri, putting work on those already overburdened shoulders had never been an option, even if Byleth had been transparent about his goals the whole time. Everyone knew that the fate of this plan had been resting on Byleth alone.

Even so, Byleth was reluctant. “I can’t expect you all to do my work for me—”

“Goddess you two really are perfect for each other,” Sylvain jeered. “You’re both obsessed with taking on everyone else’s burdens, and then working yourselves into the ground. Don’t think we didn’t notice back in school.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well,” Ingrid offered, hesitancy in her voice. “You were the only professor who worked so intimately with their students. And you’d be there even if it didn’t have anything to do with academics.”

“It was my responsibility as your professor,” Byleth argued.

“It was you being a good guy,” Claude laughed. “Hate to break it to you, but even if you think you’re the scourge of this weird time-travelling world, you’re a pretty decent dude.” Ingrid and Sylvain nodded along enthusiastically, while Dedue rested a gentle hand on his back. 

“Let us return your kindness, Professor,” Dedue said, his voice just as gentle as his touch. “You deserve a day to be happy. You both do.”

Byleth’s eyes passed across the four faces, suddenly incapable of arguing back. Or rather, he bit back the desire. To insist on how awful he was, how this whole war was actually his fault, how he should have worked harder to stop it. How he didn’t deserve happiness. How he didn’t deserve that kindness. How—

—How the fuck did he turn into Dimitri?

“...Oh my god you’re right Sylvain.”

“See that’s what I’ve been trying to convince Ingrid for years.”

Sylvain stuck his tongue out at Ingrid, teasing her and almost drowning out Byleth’s next question. 

“Wait, so how have you convinced Dimitri to agree to this?”

“You dare to doubt my schemes, Teach?” Claude spoke with an air of feigned offence. “It was nothing more than a matter of teamwork. Voilà.”

With a dramatic, sweeping gesture, Claude revealed Byleth’s partner, held tragically captive. Surrounded, on all sides. Completely helpless. Desperate for rescue. Held captive by the one group of people that could never fear Dimitri’s wrath.

Earnest, optimistic, tiny cuties.

Ashe, Annette, Mercedes, Flayn, and even Marianne who Claude undoubtedly roped in to helping, stood giddily at Dimitri’s sides. They smiled and laughed with each other and encouraged the same from him. Byleth could see even from a distance that Dimitri was shuffling, antsy and stressed, but his face was soft. He was in conversation with Marianne about something that had both their eyes uncharacteristically lit up. A small smile rested on his face, and it brought a matching one to Byleth’s. 

“Claude, I will never doubt you again.” Byleth clung to the few more moments before Dimitri noticed the approaching party, watching with muted joy the way Flayn could cling to the end of Dimitri’s cape, or how he hadn’t flinched away from Mercedes calming hand at his back, or the way his hand was held by a distracted Annette. Only two weeks after his last violent incident, and a week after Byleth found him curled up on the stone after a verbal beating, yet he already recovered faster than he’d ever had in the past. 

It lit a spark of hope in Byleth that he hadn’t even realized had been extinguished.

“You better not,” Claude chuckled. “And if you’re wondering where Felix is, he’s distracting Seteth.”

Byleth turned to look at him, frowning despite his appreciation that Felix had allowed himself into this scheme as well. “Seteth? Why?”

“Well, I don’t figure he has a problem with you both taking a break from work, but,” Claude’s easy smile twisted in a more devious grin. The kind of grin Sylvain would get from time to time. The kind Sylvain was wearing right now as he overheard the conversation. “He’s a good holy man, and we don’t know what you two might get up to, so we just didn’t want him to worry, y’know?”

It took a moment, but soon Byleth was mentally thanking Dedue for being the only one kind enough to hide his laughter, eyeing the way his cheeks lit up red faster than a torch. Byleth mouthed a response that didn’t seem to want to come out, when the laughter drew Dimitri’s attention to the new arrivals. 

“Byleth!” Dimitri’s expression looked to be an odd mix of joy, relief and mild confusion about the whole situation. Byleth figured his own was much the same.

Sylvain leaned towards Ingrid, muttering loud enough for Byleth to hear, “He’s calling the Professor by his name, so adorable.”

“We can’t even manage that,” Ingrid laughed. Byleth shot a weak look back at the both of them. 

“Do you,” Dimitri continued, while his posse of smalls dragged him over so the two groups could intermingle, “Do you know what all this is?” He gave a little gesture around them, a lopsided half-smile on his face. 

“It is exactly what you two need, Your Princliness,” Claude replied in Byleth’s place. “Namely, a damn break from all of that.” He pointed back at the monastery looming over them all with his thumb, his other hand placed confidently on his hip. The stance of a man who knew everything was going to plan. 

“A break?”

Byleth could only shrug in a ‘this wasn’t my idea, I don’t know either’ kind of way, while Dedue spoke up. “The Professor has been overworked, and we know Your Highness finds the monastery difficult to live in now. We thought it best you both escape for a day.” He slid a simple brown satchel off his shoulder, one he’d been carrying since Byleth had been unceremoniously hoisted from his table at the library this morning. 

It was Annette’s turn to speak, leaning into Dimitri’s side and looking up with doe eyes she and Mercedes had both learned to weaponize in school. “We packed everything for a good picnic, since going out on the town isn’t really an option.”

Flayn’s airy voice floated from his other side, her hands clasped together and eyes dreamy. “A long-overdue romantic date!”

It was Dimitri’s turn to flush red and face the resulting laughter, backing into Mercedes and Ashe’s firm holds on his back. No escape. 

Byleth, on the other hand, was a little offended by the insinuation.

“Hey, who’s to say we _haven’t_ had a romantic date yet?” Byleth folded his arms, so far refusing the satchel Dedue was trying to offer him. “I’ll have you know I was way ahead of you all.”

“Inviting someone to tea doesn’t count,” Sylvain said flatly.

“Why not?”

“Raise your hand if you’ve had tea privately with the Professor.”

Every hand went up, save for Claude’s.

“What— Oh, I see how it is, Teach.” Claude huffed, before gaping at Marianne, whose hand was raised meekly in front of her chest. _“Et tu, Marianne?”_

Marianne only shuffled to hide behind Dimitri’s cape, while Byleth rolled his eyes. “It was to thank her for tending so well to the horses, and I couldn’t trust you to not poison the tea, Claude.”

“Well,” Claude folded his arms, eyes closed and nose stuck up in the air in a display of clearly fake offense. “I expect for you to make this up to me! I better get the most romantic tea party you can muster. Rose petals on the bed and everything.”

Dimitri straightened and folded his arms in a wordless frown. Claude’s eye popped open and he shrunk a solid two inches. 

Claude held his hands up in defeat, chuckling with a hint of nervousness to it. “Kidding, very much kidding, Your Highestness.”

“Anyways,” Sylvain interjected, “I think you have to do a little more than have tea for it to count as a date, Professor.”

But Byleth was indignant. He was a capable tactician, he wasn’t going to lose this battle. “I think it has much more to do with what you talk about and do _during_ tea. And we’ve had dates that weren’t over tea, too.” They were still roughing it in the forest, but hey, their options for entertainment have been staunchly limited.

Sylvain raised an eyebrow and smirked. Both Byleth and Dimitri shrunk this time.

“Oh? And what did you do that was so romantic?”

“Sylvain,” Ingrid cautioned. 

“No no no, I want to hear all the spicy details, if he’s going to be so insistent!” Sylvain spread his arms wide, putting on an overly dramatic, wistful tone. “Did the strong prince sweep you off your feet, Professor? All rugged good looks and battle scars?” He grinned wider, holding himself with his arms and swaying off to the side. “Did he ever throw you to a bed and ravage—”

“I’m going to kill him.” Dimitri announced, face blank as a board save for its deep shade of—perhaps maroon? “Sylvain I think I’m finally going to kill you.”

Every tiny hand around Dimitri immediately grabbed his cape and Claude instinctively yanked Sylvain back towards him. Byleth considered stepping between them, then decided he would bring a single rose to Sylvain’s grave instead.

Dimitri only sighed, his shoulders falling a bit. 

“I was... joking.” Kind of.

“Could have fooled me, Your Highness.” Sylvain laughed it off, but was staying in his safe spot behind Claude. 

Dedue shook his head, walking instead over to Dimitri and pressing the satchel into his hands. “I insist you take the Professor and leave now, or they will never leave you alone.”

Dimitri’s conflicted frown fell into resignation. “Thank you, Dedue.”

Dedue nodded, clapping a great, gauntleted hand to Dimitri’s shoulder. “Please do be safe, Your Highness. And note we will be needing the Professor’s assistance in the coming days, so we request that he is still able to walk when you return.” 

After another pat, Dedue quickly ushered those gathered around Dimitri away whilst his charge cried out something that was probably ‘Dedue, why’, but sounded more like a dying goat. Byleth couldn’t tell if the thin smirk on Dedue’s face when he turned back was a hallucination or not. 

Byleth rushed over to Dimitri and grabbed his arm, tugging him away from the group before he could collapse into an embarrassed heap. “Okay, okay, we’re _leaving_.” 

Somewhere deep in his psyche he could swear he heard Sothis laughing at them alongside the rest of his students. 

\---

Claude and Dedue led their collection of mischief-makers back to the monastery, everyone sharing lighthearted giggles between themselves. Claude’s mind was already wandering back to his own work he had to do, ensuring Alliance forces would actually agree to assist them in the coming weeks, when Mercedes appeared at his side. Claude met her smile with his own.

“How’s our little project coming along?”

“You’re working me terribly, Mr. von Riegan,” Mercedes cooed, her hands swaying at her sides. “The design is almost finished, those books you lent me were wonderful. And Hilda’s work on the jewelry pieces are coming along so nicely. But I really do need to know his measurements before I continue the main piece.”

“Well, now you have all day to investigate. Just make sure it’s all back in place by this evening, yeah?”

Mercedes chuckled, looking mildly impressed with just how conniving their new ally was. 

“Oh, one other thing,” Mercedes added, bringing a thoughtful finger to her lips. “It just occurred to me. When we were all gathering what we intended to send to her, do you remember what it was that His Highness had insisted on offering?”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “A knife? Didn’t surprise me too badly, all things considered.”

Mercedes smiled wider. “It surprised me a touch. It looked so beautiful, but it certainly wasn’t one I ever remembered seeing on his person during the academy. And we spent quite some time together.”

“So?” He’d noticed the way Ingrid and Sylvain had slinked closer, not subtle in their eavesdropping. He’d say Dedue had grown quiet as well, but Dedue was always quiet, so who knew.

Mercedes brought her hands together and pressed her cheek to them, gazing sweetly into the distance. “Did you know it’s a Faerghus tradition to give blades to loved ones? It’s quite symbolic. Something about His Highness makes me think he’d even think it romantic.” Her eyes met Claude’s, sparkling. “I wonder if the Professor ever learned of it.”

Claude’s response was drowned out by Sylvain’s howl of laughter. Realization dawned on Ingrid, and she struggled to cover her own laughter when Dedue glanced back at them. Of course, his silent chastising didn’t work well considering he was working back his own smile. 

“Romantic fucking daggers, I can’t believe it!” Sylvain wheezed. “They really are _perfect_ for each other!”

\---

“You’re not actually dead over there, are you?”

“Goddess, I wish I was.” Dimitri raised gloved hands to the heavens, looking up at the darkening clouds that creeped across the sky from where he laid on his back. They were just up shore from a stream, the babbling of water and snow-melt from the mountains relaxing in a way both men desperately needed. He lowered his hands, and his fingers seemed to fidget with something that wasn’t there. Dimitri continued, just melodramatic enough for Byleth to know he was probably kidding, “I wish for the all powerful goddess to finally punish me for my sins, and smite me where I stand.”

“Ah.”

Byleth picked up a small rock and lobbed it lazily at Dimitri, where it plinked against his chestplate. Dimitri’s head lolled to the side, blinking up at Byleth in mild confusion. “Why?”

“You have now been smoten by the goddess. Smoted? Smote? What’s the past tense of smite?”

A smile creeped back onto Dimitri’s face for the first time since they fled their assortment of tormentors. “What a fearsome goddess you are.”

“Yep. Absolutely terrible at grammar though.”

Dimitri laughed, and Byleth found himself more willing to relax into the grass below him. Reluctant as they both were to ‘take a break’, he couldn’t deny that the early spring breeze wasn’t peaceful, and that a proper moment alone with a handsome prince wasn’t sorely needed. 

He leaned back on his palms and cocked his head at Dimitri, puffing a wayward strand of hair out of his face as it fell in front of his nose. “That position can’t be comfortable, Dimitri. You’re still lying on top of your lance.”

Dimitri’s head looked up the best the ground allowed him to manage, noting the weapon that he’d still had strapped to his back beneath his cape. “Huh. Indeed I am.” He foisted himself into a sitting position with a light grunt, rolling his shoulders. Byleth heard a chorus of pops and absently wondered if someone at the monastery was a masseuse. 

“Were you that overcome with embarrassment that you needed to collapse?”

“Were you not?” Dimitri retorted, a light pink dusting his cheeks once again. “I may see things and hear voices that aren’t there, but at least my delusions are kind enough to not make s—” Dimitri stumbled over his words, halting himself. “...To not make jokes of that, ah, manner, at me. ” Something over in the stream must have really interested him all of a sudden. 

Byleth shrugged, always charmed by Dimitri’s shyness. But he couldn’t lie about his own reaction. “Well, let me put it this way: Had you snapped, I may have just mysteriously forgotten how to stop you.” Byleth let a ghost of a smirk cross his lips, leaning back with a hand to his forehead. “Oh, how _tragic!_ Claude and Sylvain have been brutally slaughtered, forever unable to make more jokes about their Professor’s sex life. However shall we replace such loss?” 

A breathy laugh escaped from his companion, but Dimitri seemed too busy trying to rub his blush away to really appreciate Byleth’s theatrical brilliance. “I fear to imagine what they think we are doing right now.”

“To be honest, I think if we told them ‘we complained about all of you next to a stream for six hours’, they would probably believe us.”

“That sounds like a terribly dull way to spend a day.”

“Doesn’t it?” Byleth resisted a snort, dragging the satchel he’d thrown aside earlier into his lap. He brushed away the sense of apprehension at what his kind pupils would have thought to pack them, giving in to curiosity. “I hope Ingrid convinced them to pack food.”

“We have weapons and the ability to find our own.” Despite that, he dragged himself over to sit at Byleth’s side, eyeing the satchel with his own curiosity.

“That is so much effort I do not want to put into lunch.” Byleth glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Or did you want an excuse to drop another un-cleaned animal pelt on me again?”

Byleth found himself pleased at how easy it could be to make Dimitri flush nowadays. He hadn’t forgotten how quickly Dimitri could turn it back on him, of course, but for now he planned to revel in Dimitri’s adorable self-consciousness for as long as possible. 

“You’re not wearing it. You haven’t for days now.”

There was a flicker of hurt that passed over Dimitri’s face, Byleth now regretting having brought the matter up. Having abandoned the fur shawl and the ribbons after Dimitri’s incident, the only physical reminder of their relationship Byleth had on him now was the journal he’d returned to its place on his belt. Dimitri had missed the sight, just as he seemed to miss his own tactile reminder. Byleth’s eyes flickered to Dimitri’s hands, still fidgeting with the dagger that wasn’t there. 

Byleth shook his head, trying his best to be reassuring. “It’s just because of the change of weather, Dimitri. The fur is too warm now.” He leaned to his side, brushing his face against the tufts of fur on Dimitri’s shoulder, what made it so comfortable to lean against him despite the armor. “It’s a wonder you’re not overheating yourself. This weather must be utterly tropical for someone from, what was it, a frozen wasteland.”

Dimitri pouted at that, looking away. “Faerghus isn’t a wasteland, and it’s hardly even warm out. But,” he sighed, shifting under the weight and stickiness of his armor and thick fabrics. “The armor is beginning to be a bit unwieldy in this weather, I suppose.” 

“You could always take some of it off,” Byleth nudged.

“We are in the _woods,_ Byleth,” Dimitri retorted, looking down at Byleth incredulously. “Perhaps it is the paranoia, but I would think this the worst possible place to do that.”

Byleth couldn’t help it. He liked a challenge when he got one. “I’ll protect you,” he smiled. 

“That is my job.”

“Says who? You’re my student. It’s in the job description.”

“I haven’t been your student for four years, we have been over this.” Dimitri huffed, exasperated.

“I never graduated you.”

“That’s not how that word is used, and there were extenuating circumstances.” 

Byleth puffed out a laugh and leaned more of his weight into Dimitri, shifting so his hands were hanging off his shoulders. “Your Professor orders you to not get heatstroke, Dimitri.” 

Dimitri matched Byleth’s movement, pressing his own hands against Byleth’s much skinnier arms. “Your Prince orders you to not order him around, Byleth.”

“Then this is a coup!” Byleth grinned, throwing the rest of his weight into Dimitri’s chest and knocking them both over. Dimitri sputtered, grabbing at Byleth’s waist while Byleth’s hands caught himself, planted against the sides of Dimitri’s head. “Viva la revolución, Boar Prince!” 

Byleth couldn’t wipe the grin off his face until he saw Dimitri’s expression, eye wide and sparkling in the little sunlight that broke through the clouds and trees above them. He let out a nervous chuckle, suddenly self-conscious himself. “What?”

Dimitri’s hands came up to cup Byleth’s cheeks, warm leather matching the growing heat in Byleth’s face. “Your smile,” he mumbled, not taking his eyes of Byleth’s face.

“You’ve seen it before.”

“Never so big,” Dimitri responded. “You’ve looked so tired for so long, but now,” His voice trailed off and Byleth couldn’t help but sigh, leaning a bit into one hand.

“You know some people seem to think I don’t feel any emotions, right?” They certainly know he can feel embarrassment now, though. 

Dimitri nodded. “I have met several people convinced you did not know how to speak, as well.”

Byleth scoffed a small ‘rude’ at that, before smiling at him again. “Someday they’re going to see just how happy you make me.” He moved his head just enough to press a kiss against one of Dimitri’s palms, adding in a slight mumble, “Also _unbelievably_ stressed out, but mostly happy.”

Byleth was going to add something else, but his attempt was turned into a startled squeak when his head was tugged down and met with a kiss, deeper than what he had been growing used to. When he finally pulled away, Dimitri’s face was flushed and his eye was just wet enough to tell Byleth that he’d said something very important for the prince to hear.

“I really make you happy?” Dimitri asked, hesitant and just disbelieving enough to make Byleth’s heart ache. His hands had moved to their preferred place, tangled in Byleth’s hair, not pulling but also not leaving Byleth much room to get up.

“You make me smile more than anyone else does,” Byleth responded, nuzzling up against Dimitri’s cheek and leaving light little pecks along it. “Maybe you’re just too much of a teacher’s pet.”

“Byleth,” was all Dimitri managed to whine out, sounding ever so slightly scandalized and flushing even redder as Byleth trailed more kisses down his jaw and—not being able to move much lower because of that damn armor. 

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to take some of that off,” Byleth mumbled, instead moving up his cheekbone to his temple, not giving Dimitri any time to respond in kind. This was his moment to treat Dimitri, he decided. Not at all because he enjoyed not being the flustered one for a moment. 

Dimitri only sighed, offering a conflicted hum as a response. With no words to give, Byleth moved back to a proper kiss, and Dimitri responded with considerably less confliction to that. Up until Byleth gave a light nip to his bottom lip and elicited a muffled yelp. He was cute, why was he so cute. No six foot tall lance wielding maniac had any right being so damn _cute_. 

Byleth shivered when he felt Dimitri’s hands slide out of his hair, fingers brushing against the nape of his neck and coming to rest on the small of his back, pressing against his own bit of armor. He moved his own hands in turn, cupping his hands against Dimitri’s jaw and stroking his cheek with a thumb, tilting his head just enough to deepen the kiss. He was vaguely aware of how quiet the forest around them was, nothing but leaves rustling in the wind and the earliest birds beginning to sing, and the little noises and sighs that would come from the man under him. They were completely alone, by choice rather than by circumstance, and for some reason that mattered to Byleth. It was peaceful, and sweet, and intimate and _romantic_, and—

“—What was that?”

Both men had paused at the inhuman rumble that had sounded, faces unceremoniously smashed together in a way that muffled Dimitri’s question. Another grumble, and Byleth’s face dropped to bury itself against Dimitri’s neck, face beating red for a new reason.

“This was going so well.”

“Was that your _stomach_?”

Byleth responded with an embarrassed whine.

“That sounded like a bear, Byleth.”

“Shut up,” Byleth groaned, limp and lifeless lying on top of Dimitri. He only looked up when Dimitri’s body started to shift, fist raised to his mouth and failing to cover his laughter. It was low and light, a smile brightening his already pink face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Byleth sighed, his own half-smile hanging on his face as he rolled off Dimitri and into the grass. “Okay, stop laughing.”

Dimitri took a breath, trying to respond only to collapse into further giggling, “I— I am sorry, I just—” 

“I’m going to eat all of whatever food they packed us if you don’t stop laughing,” Byleth pouted, pulling the satchel back over again. 

“No no I can stop—” Dimitri snorted, trying to catch his breath and only mostly failing to contain his giggles. “You’re just, I just, you are so cute,” Dimitri wheezed, and Byleth looked back over, marvelling at the way his eye seemed to sparkle, how the dark circles had seemed to vanish, and how he hadn’t heard Dimitri laugh like that for lifetimes. 

Byleth turned his attention back to the satchel, starting to pull out bundles of what smelled like meats and cheeses and breads, likely courtesy of Ashe and Dedue. A small smile still hung on his lips, listening to the last of Dimitri’s giggles float out of him. 

“And you say _my_ smile is mesmerizing,” Byleth mumbled, pulling out boxes of Mercedes’ and Annette’s treats. It seemed everyone had tried to contribute something to their semi-forced picnic. Even Claude, who had left red and white ribbons in a little pouch, longer and silkier than the ones Byleth had worn before. 

Dimitri sat up, the flush on his cheeks refusing to go away between the laughing fit and the unexpected complement. “Because it is,” he said, his grin falling into a small, sweet smile. “I love it, and I love you, Byleth.”

Byleth threw a block of cheese at him. Dimitri caught it, laughed, and then took a bite out of it because Dimitri’s love could be bought with cheese. 

“I loved you and then you laughed at me for three minutes,” Byleth huffed, tugging a heavy bottle of something out of the bag. He turned it over to see the label and his eyes widened, “Oh no.”

“What is it?” 

He considered chastising Dimitri for asking with his mouth full, then realized that would be very hypocritical of him. “It’s wine.” He was vaguely aware of a cellar that had been largely hidden due to nosey students, and he was very unsurprised that his students knew it existed anyways. 

Dimitri shifted closer, peering at the bottle with an almost childish curiosity. As if he hadn’t—

“Have you never had wine before?” Byleth blinked, having trouble keeping his knowledge of different Dimitris in his life straight. Dimitri shook his head, the metal claws of his gauntlets clinking against the glass as he pulled it from Byleth’s hands.

“Sylvain had tried to drag me to a bar for my birthday, but I was not particularly interested. I have never had an opportunity since.”

The opportunity bit seemed like a lie given how easy cheap liquor was to acquire, but Byleth knew from experience Dimitri never had a strong preference for alcohol in general. The only time Byleth had seen a glass of anything stronger than water in Dimitri’s hand was at official dinners and weddings. It had baffled Dimitri’s friends, but Byleth could make sense of it. The man couldn’t taste a thing; why would he want to drink a tasteless something that could only make him puke a few hours later?

Dimitri looked up at the bottle to peer at Byleth. “Do you drink? Anything other than tea, I mean,” he added, with a thin smirk. 

“I,” Byleth hesitated, one other detail nagging at him. “I do on very rare occasions, but,” he trailed off, eyeing the bottle like it was a snake.

Dimitri didn’t know it, but the young prince had a frighteningly high alcohol tolerance. It seemed to be a trait shared by most of Faerghus’s citizens.

Byleth, on the other hand, did not.

A humiliating fact he learned at his own wedding, when the King of Faerghus had supposedly carried his unconscious body to his room, a story Linhardt then told him the next morning while he was crouched over a bucket. (Linhardt had not minded, of course, because it was a good excuse to go to bed with his newlywed early.)

“But?” Dimitri prodded, his head cocking to the side.

“But,” Byleth continued, trying to find a way to change the subject, “I just don’t care for the taste much, is all.” Not looking Dimitri in the eye, he shoved his hand back in the satchel, mentally willing Dimitri to take him at his word. “I think there’s something else in here, actually.”

“What is it?”

“I dunno,” Byleth mumbled. He pulled his hand from the bag and opened it wider, letting the light inside. Sunlight glinted off a small glass jar, catching Byleth’s eye. “It’s—”

Byleth smashed the bag shut, chucking it a few feet away before holding his hand out at Dimitri. His hair curled around his beat red face, not quite messy enough to hide the embarrassment. 

_“I think I’ll have some wine after all.”_

Dimitri blinked, glancing at the satchel now crumpled in the dirt. “What was in the bag?”

_“Nothing was in the bag, wine please now.”_

Byleth snatched the wine out of Dimitri’s hands, using the dagger at his waist to uncork the thing. Dimitri watched dumbfounded as Byleth choked the neck of the bottle and drank directly from it for longer than was really necessary. 

Byleth, on the other hand, was too busy making a mental note to shove that jar of oil and the Sword of the Creator up Sylvain’s ass later. 

\---

Byleth woke up to raindrops splattering across his face, and soft rumbling in the distance. Thunder, probably. 

He groaned, his eyelids heavy and reluctant to open. He had a splitting headache, and the rest of his bones weren’t doing much better, splayed out on the hard ground. 

He was also so warm he didn’t want to move.

“Are you awake, Byleth?” Dimitri’s voice came from somewhere above him, soft and concerned. “I was just considering carrying you back.”

Byleth moved his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. He felt fabric slide from his arm. Dimitri must have draped his cape over him, based on the tufts of fur that kept tickling his chin and neck. “How long was I asleep?”

“A couple hours.”

Byleth cracked an eye open, first noticing how pleasantly dark it had become, and then registering the worried face right above him. Dimitri’s eye peered down, bright and contrasting against the stormy dusk sky. His hair was curtained down around his face, and his hands were resting against Byleth’s chest, the weight comforting. 

“You only had maybe a glass and a half’s worth,” Dimitri fussed, pushing some hair out of Byleth’s eyes. “Are you certain you are well?”

Byleth sighed, resigned to his fate as a lightweight and also the fact that his head was clearly in Dimitri’s lap. He was too tired to get embarrassed on any front at this point.

“I’m okay. Help me up?” 

Dimitri nodded and carefully lifted Byleth from where he was cradled in his lap, easing him into a sitting position, before taking his hand and pulling Byleth up to his feet along with him. He kept a firm grip on Byleth’s shoulders when he wobbled, tight enough to hurt but Byleth’s head hurt too much more to care. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Byleth mumbled, putting a hand up to feel the two braids that had appeared on either side of his face. Dimitri must have done them while he was asleep. He wondered again how much he looked like Sothis in the moment. “Don’t wanna come back looking like a drowned rat.”

Dimitri finished refastening his cape and bent down to scoop up the abandoned satchel, shooting a small smile at his half-asleep partner. “You mean my usual appearance?”

“Aww,” Byleth cooed, padding over to take Dimitri’s arm, blinking raindrops out of his eyes. “No, you’re still a handsome rat.”

Dimitri chuckled, and the two made their way back to the monastery.

It wasn’t until they reached the treeline that Byleth realized the rumbling wasn’t thunder.

Dimitri stared out at the glow of flames flickering in the distance, the unmistakable sounds of screaming and metal clashing growing louder. For a moment, Byleth thought he may have frozen. 

“We’re under attack?”

Dimitri’s mumble came out incredulous, a question directed at a higher power that wasn’t listening. Byleth’s headache pounded in his ears, and for a moment he was just as still. 

And then both men were tearing across the paths leading up to the monastery. 

It wasn’t long before masses of people were visible, clashing in and amongst the ramparts and pathways of the monastery and ruined marketplace. The main gates were blocked by a wall of soldiers, draped in Imperial reds and blacks. None of Byleth’s students seemed to be visible amongst the throng, save for an unmistakably white wyvern wheeling in the sky above them, and the telltale orange glows of Hero’s Relics that flashed into view in time with lightning beginning to crack above their heads. The army facing them was just that; an army. Not a scouting force, but an extermination one.

Byleth and Dimitri were far enough back to not have yet been noticed, but they still found themselves in a dangerous position. To reach their allies would mean cutting through the entirety of the invading lines. 

Byleth stared at the figure only a few paces in front of him. If there were two people in this army that could accomplish an inhuman feat like that, it would be the Boar Prince and the Ashen Demon. Yet, that wasn’t his concern. 

Even with the knowledge that Edelgard wasn’t really his enemy, even with the desire to lead and grow pushing past the desire to kill, even with all those voices growing ever more quiet, Byleth could see the telltale sway of Dimitri’s stance and the grip on his lance that left dents in the metal.

“Dimitri, maybe you—”

“I’m sorry, Byleth.” Dimitri turned back, the glow of the battle casting shadows back over his face. He stalked back over to Byleth, cupping his cheek with a free hand. “But I cannot let Edelgard ruin your plan before she’s even had a chance to be a part of it.” 

It wasn’t the response he was expecting. Byleth hesitated, trying to read anything in that blue eye already blown out on adrenaline. “You have allies in this fight. Not like before.” His mind wandered to Gronder Fields of the past, where blues and golds and reds all fought to draw blood from each other. Was it worth the risk? Dimitri hadn’t been in a full battle since they had been alone, since the day Byleth had taken a blade to the gut, and even that had been small. It hadn’t been war. It hadn’t been a battle Dimitri had pushed through on pure rage and psychosis.

Byleth didn’t even know what he was risking in letting Dimitri go. Yet, in all his panic, he almost didn’t notice Dimitri was waiting for his permission. 

“I know. I have done enough to hurt them already. Let me protect them instead, please.” Let me do the one thing I know how to do, Byleth could hear in his mind. It only made his headache pound harder.

Byleth raised his hand to rest overtop Dimitri’s. He felt as though he had his hand on the latch of a leash. 

“Protect yourself just as much as the others,” Byleth muttered barely audible over the din of battle. “Your Professor orders you to get out of this alive.”

Dimitri smiled, an eager little thing not unlike the ones from months before when Byleth had spoken of helping take Edelgard’s head. Yet the one in front of him didn’t make his blood curdle. If he wasn’t so out of it, he would have said his heart had fluttered.

“And your prince orders the same.” Dimitri lips pulled back in a grin, a little canine poking over and glinting like a fang. 

Byleth reached up and grabbed a fistful of water-matted fur, yanked Dimitri down, kissed him, and let go of the leash. 

Dimitri’s cape flared back behind him like blue wings, sweeping over whatever bodies he’d leave behind as he launched himself into the throng of enemies. Byleth could hear the stunned screams intermingled with dying shrieks and gurgles. His eyes followed what bits of blue and black he could see, but was quickly forced to focus on the enemies that now knew he was there. His relic already unsheathed, he threw the glowing blade forward, extending it and cutting himself a path through enemies screaming that the mercenary professor and the dead prince were on the battlefield. 

Byleth wheeled through enemies, slicing the Creator Sword through every gap in armor that appeared, his spare dagger in his hand for the moments an enemy came too close. He could feel the blood start to run down his gloves, making everything hot and sticky and uncomfortable. His headache had faded into the background, the adrenaline forcing him alert and his own blood singing in his head. The archers and mages around him were more focused on the pegasi and wyverns soaring above the fray, allowing Byleth to be single minded in cutting his path.

An axe, two swords, a brawler, a mounted lancer, an armor knight, an assassin. Not people, just weapons trying to destroy the only family he had left. He would feel the guilt and pity later. For now he needed to get out alive. 

He could hear Dimitri’s own cries in the chaos around him, not as silent as his professor. They were not vengeful, but they were angry. They were wild and they were alive, and Byleth held onto that fact as he threw himself out of the path of a handaxe wheeling through the air by his head.

Byleth thrusted the blade of his dagger into the throat of a swordsman who got too close, feeling a searing pain in his side from where a Wo Dao sliced through his tunic. He threw his blade forward once more, crushing the helmet of an armored infantryman and tossing his body into the allies around him. Byleth ducked and weaved through the mess, feeling every blade pointing at his throat, feeling the nicks and slashes and pierces digging at him as he pushed through the walls of Imperial soldiers. His graceful dance through enemy lines had devolved into frantic slashing until suddenly it wasn’t. Until he felt a heavy hand grip his jacket and yank him behind a shield that rang under the weight of an axe blow. 

Dedue towered in front of him, a massive hammer falling down and crumpling the opposing knight like paper. Sylvain was only paces to his right, his Lance of Ruin skewering through swordsmen and cavalry from where he sat atop his steed. He felt a warmth at his side and the unmistakable pull of a wound stitching itself back together, and turned to spy Flayn in the distance, glowing hands raised and bright green eyes trained on Byleth. Mercedes and Marianne were beside her, protecting each other with a flurry of fire and ice and faith spells to keep them all standing. He had made it. 

Dedue retreated back for a moment, allowing Sylvain to take over the front line as Felix joined him, darting in and out amongst the enemy, almost invisible save for the frequent flash of his crest lighting up his position. 

“What’s happened?” Byleth shouted, cutting down a mage that had found herself too far into enemy lines, keeping her spells off of the heavily armored retainer protecting him. 

“They found our allies,” Dedue hollered back, gesturing with his free hand to a mounted figure not far from them. “The Faerghus soldiers we requested were intercepted on their way here. They were too small to defend themselves, they attempted to retreat here.”

Byleth swore under his breath, following Dedue’s gesture to spot Rodrigue towering over the fray on his horse, lighting up large swathes of soldiers with Aura. Gilbert was staying strong in front of him, Annette flitting about him, slicing through enemies with deadly blades of wind. It had been a gamble contacting them. It was a small force, just an excuse to get Rodrigue and Gilbert onto the playing field, a little more political support before approaching Edelgard, while Claude scrambled to bring his own from the Alliance. He’d hoped their absence would go unnoticed, that that damn Cornelia wouldn’t say anything yet. He just needed long enough for that damn letter to arrive. 

He’d been gambling a lot lately, and it was about time he lost. 

But he needed them, and he needed the weapon currently pulsating in Rodrigue’s hands.

“Where is His Highness?” Dedue asked, grunting under the strain of yet another flurry of blades on his shield. 

“Still amongst enemy lines! Keep holding them back, Dedue!” Byleth ordered, already pushing towards his mounted visitor. “I’ll get him out of there.” 

Byleth cut his way over to Rodrigue, the shine of his weapon and hair enough to grab the Duke’s attention. “Nice of you to join us, Professor!” His voice was strained and exhausted, but the look of relief on his face was palpable.

Byleth only held out his hand, eyes trained on the lance out-of-place in Rodrigue’s grip. 

“Give me Areadbhar. I’ll get it to Dimitri.”

For a second, Rodrigue’s eyebrows raised. Whether it was at the command or the familiarity with his should-be king, Byleth didn’t know nor care. It didn’t stop him from lowering the shaft of the lance down to Byleth, which he took without hesitation. “I believe I can see him. I’ll work on clearing you a path, Professor.”

Byleth nodded, returned to his natural silence, before dashing off with the Sword of the Creator in one hand and Areadbhar in the other. 

It was not the first time he’d wielded a relic not meant for him—he had become intimately familiar with Failnaught in his very first run, after Claude had unceremoniously dumped it on them—and yet he still found himself leaning more on his sword than the monster of a lance weighing him down. It was already a two handed weapon, even Rodrigue had been keeping both hands on it for much of the battle, but there was a weight to it that other lances didn’t have. A weight that was only wieldy for someone with a Blaiddyd crest to match it. 

Even so, Byleth pushed forward, letting Rodrigue’s magic blast away enemies that came for his head. Those airborne must have caught on, given a cavalry unit to his left had been plucked from his seat by an arrow that still glowed a soft orange, and a war master to his right had been snatched screaming by the claws of a wyvern expertly piloted by a saint with far more years of experience than Byleth. 

Within minutes, Byleth found himself eyeing those blue wings whipping above soldiers’ heads once again. He cried out Dimitri’s name, and a lance caked in blood and mud cut through a soldier standing unfortunately in his way. 

The light that came from Byleth’s sword and Areadbhar was enough to make Dimitri’s face visible through the rain. His skin and hair were caked with just as much grime and viscera as his lance, and his cape was tattered with every blade it got caught on. His face was pulled into a perpetual snarl, sword wounds sliced into his skin, some protruding over his lips like tusks and trickling blood down his chin. It was his eye that brought Byleth any kind of hope. 

It was clear, not cloudy. Determined, not bloodthirsty. Byleth didn’t know if it was a sane man’s eye, especially not in the way his snarl twisted into a smile at the sight of _his_ weapon. But it was an eye that saw Byleth, and saw the friends around him, and saw that Areadbhar had one target, and not a sweeping declaration of mass destruction. 

“A gift from Rodrigue,” Byleth said, holding out the heavy lance and allowing Dimitri to snatch it greedily from his hand. 

The enemy was already beginning to thin out, their numbers not enough to match the monastery’s forces. Byleth was beginning to realize that while one gamble may have failed, others were still working for him. Edelgard had vastly underestimated just how many allies he had. She had sent an army large enough to crush the Blue Lions under her boot. Such an army now stumbled under the onslaught of Seiros knights, Leicester soldiers and Faerghus loyalists.

And now they were being torn through like tissue paper by one man and his giant scary glowstick. 

\---

“Lady Edelgard, there is something urgent that has come up.”

“What is it, Hubert?” Edelgard set down her pen, looking up from the maps she had drawn. Should the monastery fall like it was supposed to, her path into invading the Leicester Alliance becomes even simpler. 

“There is a package that we have received, addressed to you. It was confiscated by a travelling merchant under the name of Anna.” Hubert’s typical scowl was twisted ever so slightly into concern. And ever so slightly into confusion. “It was sent from Garreg Mach Monastery.”

She sucked in a breath, mind now completely detached from her earlier work. 

“It has been thoroughly checked for any traps, poisons, anything as such. But,” he hesitated, his voice low and struggling to find the right words. “It is imperative you look at it yourself, I am afraid.”

Edelgard frowned, unsettled by Hubert’s unusual worry. “Let me see it.” 

Hubert stepped aside and allowed another soldier to bring in the package, nothing more than an unmarked brown box once tightly wound with twine. Resting on the top was a scroll, slightly unfurled after having already been examined. Edelgard took hold of it and flattened it, eyes scanning over the familiar script that tied knots in her stomach. 

Her grip tightened on the parchment the longer her eyes were on it, slowly travelling down the passages and resting on the mess of words at the bottom. 

Not words. Names. Signatures. 

Signatures that could be faked, every one of them. 

Just like the contents. Surely. Perhaps he was more knowledgeable than she had given him credit for. Perhaps someone had spoken of her past to him. Perhaps this letter was nothing but a lie. 

Edelgard scowled, rolling the letter back up and setting it aside. She turned her attention to the box itself, carefully lifting the flaps and peering inside. 

And immediately fell back into her chair, skin turning almost as pale as the snow white hair framing her face. 

“Lady Edelgard—!”

With a hand raised to halt Hubert, Edelgard hesitantly pulled the box into her lap, swallowing back the acid building at the back of her throat. Her hand brushed over the scattered items littering the bottom. 

Pieces of uniforms, buttons and clasps. 

Scraps of fabric still lined with fur. 

Combs, handkerchiefs, charms. 

Hand-written scores, hand-drawn sketches, hand-signed stories. 

Things she had once passed, accidentally abandoned in monastery hallways. 

Bundles of hair different shades of an unnatural green, tied in ribbon. Others in striking shades of pink, blue, orange, red, black and brown. 

An earring done in the long-forgotten designs of Duscur. Another made of Almyran gold. 

“Hubert,” Edelgard began, eyes still glued to the box. “When was our army set to arrive at Garreg Mach?”

“Today, My Lady.”

Edelgard swore under her breath. 

Set in the middle of the box, a single dagger made with Faerghus metal. The hilt a sapphire blue, the blade engraved with jagged designs almost like stars. Tied to it was another bundle of hair, bright gold and green that almost glowed against the dark thread binding it together. A note rested below the dagger, written in a messy, dark script. Different from the one used in the letter, one unsure and anxious.

_“May the path you cut lead you to us. _

_-Your Brother."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you see, in reality i'm physically incapable of writing a certain amount of fluff without instinctually reaching for the knife. 
> 
> also welcome your new pals to the tags. 
> 
> also also feel free to pop over to my twitter if you wanna know the goings on of my plans for this fun ol' quarantine time and how you can help support my stuff! :D other than y'know commenting and faving like ya'll do ya'll are freakin' amazing man. I know I don't always respond to comments but know i read every one and they bring me much joy and fuzzy feelings. 
> 
> ya'll are the wine to my lightweight Byleth.


	26. Preparation for a Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luckily, these guys don't have to meet on Zoom. 
> 
> New chapter yaaaaaaay!
> 
> So I apologize if this chapter is a bit slow, I honestly didn't expect this to be an Introspection™ chapter but since there's a whole lot emotionally riding on meeting with Edelgard I realized there was a lot that needed to get out of the way. Either way, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Oh, and props to Blurb_brain (on AO3) for doing my mortal enemy, math, and figuring out Byleth has been trying to stop this dang ol' war for 15 years now, give or take! No wonder Byleth is so stressed.

Byleth’s mind was racing, and it seemed no amount of tea forced upon him would calm him down. 

He was certain Mercedes wished it did, as she worked alongside Flayn and Marianne to tend to those wounded. He wasn’t talkative by any means, but he was jittery enough that it drove both a frustrated Felix and Lysithea out of the infirmary the moment they were no longer profusely bleeding. 

Frankly, the fact that most of their wounded could even fit in the infirmary was a good sign. Byleth tried to stick to that thought while he kept shifting the half-empty mug in his grip. Despite the surprise attack, Seteth had informed him the invading force was just as small as Byleth had thought. The combined might of the monastery’s current allies had been more than enough to drive them back, and the only ones who had much of a struggle were Byleth and Dimitri themselves. 

Byleth glanced over to the occupied bed he’d sat himself next to. It bothered him that he was growing so used to seeing Dimitri gravely injured, that the wounds he sustained in this battle had paled in comparison. You deal with the aftermath of your student trying to dig out his own eyes, and everything else feels like paper cuts. 

A couple magic burns and a barbed arrow or two won’t replay in his nightmares like a decapitation does. 

That was why it surprised him when Dedue and Mercedes had so insistently forced him towards the infirmary, after he stumbled himself over corpses of his own making to get to them. And it was why he was surprised watching Dimitri be led without a fight. By the time Byleth had caught up with them, sidetracked by leaderly matters he wasn’t injured enough to dodge, the last of Dimitri’s bloodthirsty adrenaline had dispersed and left the man out cold. 

Byleth reached out and slowly tugged the edge of the sheet Dimitri had flung off himself back over his bandaged chest. He couldn’t help the odd swell of pride, realizing Dimitri had willingly taken off his armor so Mercedes could care for what had burned and pierced through it. There had been no scuffle, no fights or shutdowns, and all Mercedes had to say when Byleth had slid into the room was a gentle apology. She didn’t think she’d be able to stop all of the potential scars, particularly the ones bound to stay on his face. Shallow wounds like that had to be healed very quickly by faith magic to avoid scarring, and she figured he got them early on while he was still trapped in the back lines of enemies and out of reach of anyone’s Physic. 

In all honesty, Byleth had hardly heard a word of what she’d said, and cared even less. There were too many problems, too many sources of panic to mind someone else’s aesthetic flaws. And looking at Dimitri now, face peacefully asleep in a way Byleth rarely got to see, he was reluctant to consider them flaws. Two thin slivers of scarred skin that crossed through the edges of his mouth and protruded over his top lip ever slightly. Little white boar tusks. 

He would tell the goddess ‘well played’ if the logistics of that weren’t one of the many things he was really trying to not think about.

Thoughts. Too many thoughts. A part of Byleth envied Dimitri at the moment, even if the exhaustion was a result of a one-man razing of the battlefield. Sleep sounded wonderful regardless, anything to quiet his own anxieties for a second. He considered instead making conversation with the girls floating about him, but that seemed rude. Not to mention he still struggled with talking if it wasn’t with Dimitri, who was growing to be more of a crutch than Byleth had realized. 

Perhaps there was something else he could do to distract himself. He glanced at Areadbhar, the crest stone glowing eerily in the corner of his eye. Propped up against the wall, the striking bone white of the lance point was matted with blood drying a rust red. He mused the idea of taking it out to clean it off, before quickly shelving the idea. The last thing he needed was Dimitri waking up to his divine relic missing. Good progress in trust was being made and Byleth had no plans to mess that up. 

Also, Areadbhar was heavy. And Byleth was tired. Physically, if not mentally. So Dimitri got to keep his uncomfortably gorey lance, as if those damn weapons needed any more ways to look creepy.

Was there anything else to keep his mind preoccupied? Byleth glanced around, took note that the infirmary looked exactly the same as it had last week, watched the last still-conscious soldier shuffle out with a pat on the back by a yawning Flayn, and took a resigned sip of his tea. Chamomile, because Mercedes thought she’s clever. 

Clever, he just had to be clever about this, he reminded himself. Not necessarily his strong suit, he would rather leave that to Claude, but he was not an idiot either. And he was not stupid enough to let his thoughts run away with him. Thoughts about his entire plan falling into pieces, crumbling when Edelgard spits in his face and refuses an alliance, thoughts about the war raging on despite how close he’s dragged everyone’s broken bodies towards that light at the end of the tunnel. Thoughts that that light could still be the flames of war, and that Edelgard has burned away his plea in them. 

Nonsense. He tried to beat that thought into his mind louder than all the others. This attack was not a response, such speed would be impossible. Just because warping magic was accessible to her doesn’t mean she could warp an entire battalion—nor would she be foolish enough to waste such a resource. 

No, this was an unfortunate consequence of having moved so slow. A great mass of people drawing more and more attention to the monastery with every passing day. A risk. A risk he’d brought upon himself, wasting away valuable time for months playing dog trainer for a rabid hound, time he could have spent working and planning and reaching out sooner and what if this whole thing had led to someone’s death and he was unable to divine pulse back to save it and all of this had been for nothing and it would all be his fault _again_—

“—Professor, everything is alright now.”

Byleth nearly flinched at the feathery touch at his back, Mercedes’ gentle coo coming from his side. He instantly despised that Mercedes had been able to read the distress on his face. 

“I’m fine, Mercedes. Don’t worry about me.”

She pulled over a stool and sat beside him, hands folding neatly in her lap. “You look so tense, and your face is white as a sheet.” She leaned in closer, peering over the lip of his mug, “Is the tea not helping?”

Byleth sighed, wishing to snap back that of course it wasn’t helping. “It was sweet of you to make it for me.”

The ends of Mercedes’ lips curved into the smallest frown, concern in her eyes. “What has you worried? You don’t have an injury I may have missed, do you?” Her eyes scanned down him, as if she could sense a wound hidden under his tunic. If he’d had an audible heart beat, he would have been more worried she’d hear the way it hammered a mile a minute. Or she’d hear the way his stomach twisted or feel the way his skin ran icy. He wondered if she could see the panic in him as clear as a sword slash across the face.

Byleth looked past her, eyeing the figures curled up under down blankets scavenged from old dorms and storage. Leonie was asleep in the bed next to them, after having taken a nasty axe hit to the leg. Ingrid was across from her, nursing a possible concussion after she’d been shot from her pegasus. Ignatz in the bed to her left, a pair of glasses with one recently shattered lens sitting on the bedside table. 

Byleth’s eyes fell back to his lap. “You’re certain everyone is going to be alright?”

“As long as you don’t expect them to be up and marching tomorrow,” Mercedes said, before pausing and placing a hand on Byleth’s arm. 

“You can’t blame yourself for this war, Professor.”

Ah.

Byleth gave back a bitter smile, not willing to look up. “Is it that obvious?”

He didn’t see Mercedes’ small smile, willing her teacher to relax. “You’re not nearly as hard to read now as you were in the academy.”

“A damn shame,” Byleth muttered. He chose to blame Dimitri entirely for that change. “I don’t like you all worrying about me.”

Mercedes’ chuckle was as uplifting as everything else about her, and Byleth finally forced his eyes from his lap. Her stormy blue eyes met his. “Now that is something we’ve done from the start, I’m afraid,” she gave his arm a little squeeze, pulling her hand back into her lap. 

Byleth ran his fingers over the side of the mug, feeling the raised bits of paint that decorated the porcelain sides. He was quiet for a long while before speaking again, his voice weaker no matter how hard he fought it. “How can I not blame myself? I’m the reason you are all here again.”

Mercedes shook her head, “This is the first time I have lived through this, as far as I am concerned.” Her eyes were bright, still gentle but lit with a determination to get Byleth to understand. “Maybe a different Mercedes lived through a war, but that was a different Mercedes, and I think it was a different war, too. And besides,” Mercedes balled up her fists in her lap, a wave of subtle anger passing over her otherwise gentle face. It was unusual enough to further focus Byleth’s attention on her, and not the arguments he forced himself from voicing at her. “You were not the person who declared this war on behalf of the people who may die in it.”

It was Byleth’s turn to reach out to her, hesitantly curling his hand over her fist. It was surprisingly calloused, worn at from constant magic spells. But it was warm, and Byleth wondered if he’d reached out for her comfort or his own. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her.”

Mercedes kept her eye on Byleth’s hand, breathing slowly. While fighting back her own emotions, she had a composure even Byleth marvelled at. It was something he’d seen before, too. He had told her about Jeritza—or rather, Emile—only a couple days after her class had resettled in the monastery. He’d wished she would have cried, instead of smiling that sad smile she kept on her face now.

“I don’t know if you believe in fate, Professor,” she began, “But I do. And I think maybe the beginning of this war was fate.” She rested her other hand on top of his, “But you’ve proven the end of it isn’t. And we can still find that end you’ve been seeking. Together.”

Byleth closed his eyes, all the pressure weighing down his shoulders so much he’d wondered if Areadbhar had fallen on top of him. “You all don’t deserve to fight this war whether it’s fate or not. It’s not,” he struggled, “It’s not your responsibility.”

“Byleth.” 

The use of his name forced his eyes back open, and Mercedes was gazing at him with so much sadness in her eyes it hurt. “When I pray to the Goddess,” she asked, with reservation in her voice, “When I am asking her to end this war, do you think I am praying to you?”

Byleth didn’t notice the tears rolling down his face until Mercedes pressed the end of her sleeve to it. His mouth fell open, but he couldn’t get any words to come out. He felt pathetic. He felt manipulative, he felt like he was using his students, his family, and then making them feel bad for _him_. 

He felt so, so tired. 

Mercedes let Byleth cry for a few moments, not saying anything, only getting up to retrieve a clean cloth for him to use when he was ready. Then she spoke. “None of us asked for this life. None of us asked for any of this, you know. None of us asked for nobility, for royalty, for crests, for whatever life chose to thrust upon us. Fate,” Mercedes paused, and shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. People thrusted suffering onto us. On to you.” She held her hand out, and Byleth took it with the hand not gripping at the cloth rag, trembling. 

“I am so thankful you came to teach us, Professor. And now I fear that’s a selfish thought I need to confess. Because without us, you might never have had to learn what was in you. You would never have heard our prayers. You could have been another mercenary swept up in the war, and not the divine savior we’ve forced you to be.”

Mercedes smiled, but it seemed even she couldn’t stop the tears at the corner of her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Professor. You don’t deserve this war. You’re just a kind man who should get to live and grow old with his loved ones. I’m sorry we’ve taken that from you.” She closed her eyes, squeezing Byleth’s hand tight. “I’m so sorry.”

It was all Byleth could do to stare at Mercedes’ hands, face impassive despite the wetness on his cheeks. Every emotion he ever thought he could feel was roiling inside of him, and it made him nauseous. Guilt and fear and anger and sadness smashed into relief and pity and the sense that something really had been stolen from him. A normal life. A life with his father still alive, and friends he could have made as a mercenary instead of a teacher. 

A life where he would have never met the students of Garreg Mach. Where he would have never met the Blue Lions. Where he would never have listened to Sothis tease him as he missed another fish in the pond, where he would never have cooked meals with Dedue and Ashe, where he would never had sung hymns aside Mercedes and Annette, where he would never have sparred Felix, Ingrid and Sylvain cheering from the sidelines. 

Where he would never have smiled, and watched a delighted young prince trip over himself to complement it. 

Byleth squeezed Mercedes’ hand back, and her puffy eyes focused back on Byleth. The edges of her dusty blonde hair had begun to stick to her cheeks, and the redness of her face only emphasized the exhaustion under her eyes. And yet she still stuck around to calm him. 

It would take him a long time to believe he deserved people as kind as his students were, he thought.

“Even if it’s painful,” he began, acutely aware of the way his voice cracked. But it sounded human, so for a moment he didn’t mind. “I would never live a life that didn’t lead me to all of you. I can’t leave my family behind,” he said, and he let a thin smile hang on his lips despite everything.

He barely had time to catch Mercedes as she flung herself into him, squeezing him tight. It was all he could do to lightly rest an awkward hand on her back, thankful the other healers had long since gone to bed for the night. By the time Mercedes pulled back, she was giggling softly. “Well, His Highness should never have to worry about you being unfaithful. Your hand was practically hovering over me.”

Byleth pursed his lips, his embarrassed smile threatening to crack through. “Was not.”

“Annette and I will get you more used to physical affection,” she chuckled.

“Oh please no I get enough of that already—” Byleth snapped his mouth shut, already regretting saying that much when he saw Mercedes’ eyebrows raise. Thankfully, whatever fluster-inducing retort she had lined up fizzled out at the sound of hasty, heavy footsteps in the nearby hall. Byleth was already standing when Dedue appeared at the doorway, out of breath.

“Professor, we,” he wheezed. He must have run a distance to find him. “We have a visitor at the front gates.”

Byleth’s eyebrows furrowed. At this hour? “Who?”

“Hubert von Vestra.”

\---

There was no sound in the corridors save for three pairs of footsteps clacking against the tile floors, and hushed, labored breathing. Byleth, Dedue and Mercedes had all scrambled to make themselves look presentable, not to mention finding their weapons. Byleth had tried to talk Mercedes out of coming, the poor woman looking more exhausted than he did. But she had been right, Byleth and Dedue would be safer with a healer in close proximity.

Surely this was intended to be a peaceful meeting, but Byleth had never stuck his nose in deep enough to know how Hubert liked to manage his assassinations. Better safe than sorry, Mercedes came along. Dedue had also mentioned waking Dimitri, only to be hushed and pushed out the door by the stubborn bishop. He was healing, and the last thing Dimitri needed was the stress of a meeting with the right-hand-man of his years-long sworn enemy.. 

It was really the last thing Byleth needed, but Byleth’s luck only ever seemed to surface in combat. And so, meeting. And not sleeping. Goddess he wanted to sleep. 

He caught sight of a mop of frazzled orange hair as they passed through the monastery doors, Annette standing guard beside a darker figure that towered over her. Smart, he thought. A talented sorcerer with enough healing skill to handle herself made for an excellent guard. Given that she put herself between Claude and Seteth, neither of whom had taken a hand off their respective weapons, it was an intentional choice. A part of him wondered if they should look like they trust their visitor in any sense of the word. Another part of him kept his hand on his sword hilt. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he called out, and he could see the relieved exhales come from his compatriots shifting on their feet. 

Claude shot back a relaxed smile, but Byleth could see the way his bow was held firm. “Have you finally replaced the big guy with Dedue? Excellent choice, I’d say.”

“His Highness is resting off the injuries he sustained in battle,” Dedue responded, his otherwise deadpan tone dripping with resent. His eyes flashed to their silent visitor. 

“Yeah, I figured.” Claude rocked back on his heels, adding with emphasis, “Hard to get out of dropping half an invasion without getting a little banged up.” He grinned, and Byleth mentally thanked him. While it would be foolish to assume that taking injuries would equate to weakness, it didn’t hurt to leave little room for the thought. 

“Regardless,” Seteth interjected, one arm resting stiff on his hip and the other leaning against his lance as if it would hide that he looked tired enough to collapse right there on the stone. “We have more important matters to attend to. Von Vestra, you may relay your message to the Professor now.” He straightened, his own inhuman eyes glaring daggers at the unwelcome messenger. Byleth held back a sigh. Even if Edelgard did choose to walk aside them, he was suddenly unsure his current allies could swallow their own grudges long enough to take her in. 

A dry chuckle pulled Byleth back to the moment, and he turned to watch as Hubert stepped forward, his crimson cape flowing back behind him and camouflaging with the blood still drying on the steps below. He looked much the same as he always did around this time, Byleth noted. All dark hair and sharp features and a face that looked much too old for his actual age. Even now he could feel a twinge of pity. Just as Mercedes had said, none of them had asked for the lives they were given, and the young man closest to Edelgard had been dealt a rather terrible hand. A shame it had twisted him so, but Byleth figured that was a bit hypocritical of him to think. 

“We are still referring to him as _Professor_, are we?” Hubert put on a thin smile, his tone subdued but amused. Annette’s cheeks puffed up behind him, her mouth opened as if to yell at him. Mercedes must have made some kind of motion to stop her, because those blue eyes snapped to somewhere behind Byleth, and her hackles lowered. If Hubert had noticed, he was unphased, eyes now locked on Byleth.

“Professor, or Byleth, is fine,” he responded, prying his hand from where it clutched the Creator Sword’s hilt. He was thankful for his easy blank expressions, he only hoped his stance and gestures weren’t giving away the fear welling up in his gut. “I am surprised to see you here, Hubert.”

“Are you?” Hubert folded his arms, and Byleth detested the way he looked like he was the one in control of the situation. “You were the one to send summons, after all.”

“So you received the message.”

“Too late to save quite a few lives, I fear.” Byleth’s eyes followed Hubert’s, where they passed over the remaining bodies the monastery’s knights were still working to clear. “My spies had made mention of certain Leicester nobles’ disappearances. I had anticipated them coming here, but not staying.” He then glanced over to Seteth, his face twisting from bemusement to utter disdain. “And I had heard nothing of the Knights of Seiros until today. You all made friends quite quickly.”

Claude grinned, ever slightly stepping between Hubert and Seteth. Byleth too could feel the seething radiating from the old saint, and he was acutely aware of what was standing between Seteth’s reunion with Rhea. “What can I say,” Claude hummed, “Teach is just the kind of guy you wanna have a cup of tea with. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I—”

“He wouldn’t. Hubert prefers coffee.” 

Byleth couldn’t help himself. His lips twitched into a brief smile, watching Hubert’s head snap back towards him. Byleth had hardly spoken more than a dozen words to Hubert over the course of the academy this time around, let alone stopped for drinks with him. His preference for coffee was a detail he shouldn’t have known, and Hubert was fully disturbed by that. 

Good. He was being a dick. 

Hubert cleared his throat before continuing, that confident stance from earlier faltering. “In regards to your request, My Lady has made a decision.”

Byleth’s frown returned in a moment. He felt Dedue straighten behind him. Byleth feared if the answer wasn’t what they all wanted, Dedue might strike down Hubert then and there. It was but another fear pounding at his skull, intermixing with every anxiety that had been roiling in his stomach for hours. For days. For months. For _years_.

Byleth stared ahead, willing his expression to be stoney and his voice steady. This was not the answer he really needed. This was just the promise of a talk. It was a request asked before, just too late. Always too late. This was not the make or break moment, and yet Byleth was fully ready to shatter. “And what would that decision be?”

Hubert folded his arms behind his back and spoke clearly. And he spoke with reservation. Distrust. The reluctance of a retainer who disagreed with his charge’s choices. 

“She has agreed to a meeting in two days time. She expects to meet with the leader of each group currently allied with you. I do hope your other,” he hesitated, reaching for a better word, “commander, will be recovered by then.” His next request was muttered under his breath, only loud enough to carry to Byleth, Dedue and Mercedes. 

“And is _muzzled_, from what I have heard.”

Byleth was startled when it was Dedue’s hand gripping his shoulder. He struggled not to wince, gauntleted fingers digging in to the point where Byleth was unsure if Dedue was stopping him, or holding himself back. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end from magic crackling in Mercedes’ hands, Annette now the one shooting her nervous glances. 

Hubert’s thin smile had returned, pleased with the reactions he’d garnered. He spoke threateningly, now for all to hear. “Should any harm come to Lady Edelgard at the time, your little rebellion will be crushed within the month. I would say I admire your willingness to put all of your cards on the table, Professor. But I do not care to admire fools.”

“Thank you for relaying Edelgard’s message,” was all Byleth cared to reply.

“Of course.” Hubert raised his chin, looking down his nose at the gathering in front of him as dark magic fizzled around him. “Farewell, dogs of the church.” 

Byleth winced at the flash of the Warp spell, left squinting at the purple embers floating down to his feet. 

“Farewell, you absolute shitwad,” Annette grumbled. Claude snorted.

\---

The next day passed in a blur, while the night seemed to last forever. Byleth watched the moon inch across the sky, long having given up on a proper night’s sleep. Time slowed to a torturous crawl on these evenings, and it ate at his heart knowing this was what every night had been like for Dimitri for a very long time. 

He brushed his thumb over the back of Dimitri’s hand, curled in his but hanging mostly limp. After being discharged from the infirmary this morning, Seteth had come around with a small cloth bag of herbs. Rhea had kept a small collection of medicinal plants to give to struggling students, ones too powerful to leave about unattended in the infirmary. Byleth had only been vaguely aware of the little garden, but was reluctant to go poking around in Rhea’s quarters. He was always a little scared to find something new. Something about himself that he had missed. So he didn’t touch it.

Seteth, on the other hand, held few reservations. He also knew of Dimitri’s chronic insomnia ever since the academy, having often turned a blind eye to the otherwise responsible house leader sneaking about the library after curfew. It was an easy assumption that the affliction hadn’t gone away. It was only a small bit, Seteth admitted, but he hoped it would help. Dimitri had smiled and thanked him so politely. 

Byleth eyed the bag sitting on the desk, considering taking some for himself. But there was so little, and Dimitri was always so tired. And he did such a good job of watching over Byleth on the nights those voices got too loud to sleep through. He knew the tell tale signs of a nightmare now, and when Byleth would jolt himself awake he would already be in Dimitri’s arms, a heavy hand stroking his back and mumbling in his ear that everything would be alright. 

Byleth could take that role from time to time. 

He untangled his fingers out of Dimitri’s and slid off the bed, padding over to sit at his desk. Papers upon papers were strewn about, plans and records and hasty notes of every memory he could scrounge up from every lifetime he’d lived. It frightened him how little he could recall at times. Key details lost in a sea of others. He cursed himself for not listening to Edelgard as closely. For not letting go of everyone. For letting his nightmares eat at him. Now he struggled to remember the lies Edelgard had been told, the motivations she kept locked away. 

He regretted fleeing to turn back time when Dimitri had fallen, not staying to see Edelgard slay Rhea. A blank spot left in history, and Byleth had no idea what was supposed to happen after it.

He needed to convince Edelgard tomorrow. He needed to convince her the path she’s tread for lifetime after lifetime was not the only one to take, that her allies were the enemy they all must turn against together, that the people he has gathered are friends, not hindrances. He needed to force sincerity from Claude and rip away Seteth’s grudges. He needed to keep Dimitri’s eyes clear and a hand off his lance. 

He needed to look human for a young woman who’s had her whole life ripped away from her by everything but. 

He needed her to take his hand or he would have failed everyone once again. And he would be forced to watch his family rip each other apart again on weapons made of a family he had never met. And he would be forced to watch the survivors crumble under the weight of guilt until there was no one left and he was completely and utterly alone. 

Byleth stood up from the desk, slipped out the door, and ran to the bathrooms to vomit. He stayed there as the monastery bells chimed one hour after the other. He was not sure what time it was when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his torso and legs and carry him back to bed. 

When the morning came, Byleth was already up and dressing. Pacing, and bending over his desk, pacing, going to his closet to retrieve clothing he’d forgotten, mumbling incoherently to himself.

Dimitri watched him through a haze of sleep for a few moments, before sitting up and moving to get dressed himself. They readied themselves in silence, until Byleth’s frantic mumbling must have become too much to listen to.

“I am certain she will see reason, Byleth.” 

Byleth turned back from finishing fastening his cloak to his armor to see Dimitri’s nervous smile. It pulled at the fresh scars on his lips, which only made his smile more wobbly than it already was. His face didn’t have the same exhausted lines on it that Byleth’s did, but the worry eating at him was still plain to see. 

Byleth bit his lip and pretended to not be the wreck he was. It was pointless, really. Dimitri was more aware than anyone else how close Byleth was to collapse. But that wasn’t a comfort to either of them. So Byleth pretended, something he had grown very very good at. 

He brushed his hands over his tunic, muttering, “She’ll never see reason if she sees you looking like that. Come over here.”

Dimitri cocked his head for a moment, confused, before obeying. He padded over, hands still fidgeting with themselves like they had been for days, then sat down at the desk chair when Byleth motioned to it. “Are you just delaying going out?”

“You’re not supposed to say that part out loud.” Byleth fished a brush and a spare hair ribbon from the depths of his desk. They were beginning to collect quite a few at this point. 

Dimitri chuckled, an antsy little thing. “I should be the nervous one, you know. My track record of meeting with people has not been flawless.” He stared straight ahead, allowing Byleth to tug his perpetual bedhead into a ponytail. “Every time I imagine this meeting I see myself shutting down, or snapping, or saying something that will ruin everything you’ve been working so hard for. That is,” Dimitri swallowed, fingers picking at the ends of his gauntlets. He’d begun to hunch in on himself, and Byleth found himself less preoccupied with pulling his hair together than he was with petting it. Anything for a bit of comfort. 

He ignored the little resentment sitting on his chest, that Dimitri couldn’t be more emotionally sound right now.

When Dimitri spoke up once more, his voice was small. “That is what has had you so worried, isn’t it? That I’m going to ruin everything?” Before Byleth could respond, Dimitri’s head had jerked to the side so a blue eye could peek up at him. 

“I could still hide here. I could be ill. I could be missing. I could have died from fake injuries if that is what you need.” His nervous smile was back, and it mismatched with the desperate look in his eye. “I have been thinking about this. How many lives are riding on all the work you have done. No one here trusts me, and for perfectly good reason.” He turned back, and Byleth could see the way his nails had begun to try to dig into the soft bits between his armor. 

“If I destroy this chance at peace then I am single handedly damning thousands of lives to war and death. And I am damning you to another lifetime of suffering.”

“Dimitri,” Byleth started, but he struggled to find the right way to respond. It would be a lie to say he had not considered the risks Dimitri himself presented. And he hated himself for it. But he was not going to lie to him, he had done enough of that.

“I am sorry,” Dimitri mumbled, that fake, panicked smile still plastered on his face. He was trying. Byleth could see how hard he was trying to pretend like all was well, and quickly that resentment turned to guilt. “I am only making you more worried, I am sure. You hardly slept, I should not be weighing all my fears on your shoulders now. Just tell me what you would wish me to do, and I will do it.”

“What do _you_ want to do?”

Byleth tied Dimitri’s hair into place with a final tug, his question coming out before he could rethink it. Dimitri only paused in place. “What?”

Byleth pulled away, walking back to kneel in front of Dimitri, pulling his hands away from where they picked and fidgeted and instead clasped them tightly in his. “You are not what kept me awake last night, Dimitri. I am more afraid of my own failure than what trouble you or anyone else may bring. But,” Byleth hesitated, “You’re right. If you do something so heinous that Edelgard refuses a cease fire, this war will continue. And I promised you, and everyone else, that I would not run away from it again.”

Dimitri gripped Byleth’s hands so tightly they ached. “Then I should not go with you.”

“Is that what you want?” 

Dimitri’s brow furrowed. “What does it matter what I want? This is your plan, I am a pawn for you to move how it suits you best.”

“What? No,” Byleth’s brow furrowed in turn. “When did I ever say that?”

Dimitri’s eyes passed over to the papers littering the desk next to them. Plans. Battle maps where Dimitri was just another dot on the page. Byleth’s stomach made another flip. He had feared beginning to see his students as pawns more than people, but he had never thought Dimitri had begun to see himself that way. 

His mind floated back to the past week. Days where Dimitri only ever followed him about, where he always looked to him for assurance to speak. Where he let himself be led around, where he did everything others around him asked because Byleth had told him to. Where he asked for permission to defend his own army like Byleth had a hand on his leash. 

Byleth sighed. This was not a revelation he needed at the moment. 

“When Hubert visited the other evening, he had said something about you. And he was lucky Dedue was there and had more self control, else that man would have returned to Edelgard with a broken jaw.” Dimitri’s head cocked again, confused and a little curious, Byleth thought. “He said you should be muzzled.”

Dimitri opened his mouth, and when it looked as though he wasn’t about to disagree, Byleth cut him off. 

“You are my partner, Dimitri. Not my pet. And not a pawn for me to order around. Do you understand that?” Byleth pulled his hands from Dimitri’s grip and cupped his cheeks. Dimitri leaned into his hands like usual, and after a moment’s thought, gave the tiniest nod. 

“Living for yourself means not living for me, understand?” Another nod. “So tell me, what is it that you want to do?”

There was a long pause, Dimitri resting against Byleth’s hand. A part of him didn’t mind. He was warm. They were close. It was nice. When he spoke, it was quiet but sure.

“I want to stay at your side.” And after a moment, Dimitri added, a wry smile creeping onto his face, “And perhaps drop Hubert from a flying wyvern for that comment.”

Byleth couldn’t help but grin back. “Did you know he’s terrified of flying?” 

“Excellent.”

He chuckled, and leaned in to kiss Dimitri, soft and sweet. “I love you, Dimitri.”

“I love you, my goddess.”

“Ah.” Byleth stopped, still hovering barely an inch from Dimitri’s face. The other man must have noticed him tense, because Dimitri pulled back with concern etched on his face. 

“Byleth, you,” Dimitri frowned, in an apologetic way. “Would you like me to decide on a different name for you?” 

Byleth, for a moment, was thankful for everything that made Dimitri a wonderful disaster. Dimitri was perceptive when he wanted to be, but more so, he was empathetic. And that meant he didn’t always ask for explanations, because explanations are hard and confusing and painful. 

“Have you considered just ‘beloved’?” 

Dimitri smiled, standing and taking Byleth’s hand. “Then I love you, my beloved. And I will stay with you. Whether you want me to or not.”

Byleth laughed again, and Dimitri smiled brighter, even as they walked out of their shared dorm and towards the most important peace talk of either of their lives. 

\---

Byleth kept his hand clasped with Dimitri’s as they left the safety of their room, even as they met up with Claude and Seteth. Dedue and Ingrid, alongside Hilda and Lorenz as picked by Claude, and Shamir and Gilbert at Seteth’s request, had been tasked with leading their visitors to a meeting place. Byleth was hesitant about not being the first one to meet with Edelgard, but Claude had insisted. It was a good way to show off just how tightly all three factions were already working together, and it meant not overwhelming her with four incredibly tough faces to look at right from the start. 

Byleth couldn’t complain. It gave him a moment to breathe. And panic. But mostly breathe. 

And also a moment to remind Dimitri not to break his hand again. Claude had barked out a laugh when he heard that, and Seteth had pretended not to. All four of them rocked back and forth on their feet, picking at loose ends of accessories and wiping sweaty palms on the fabric of their uniforms as they waited in a corridor not far from the war council room. The tension in the air was suffocating by the time Dedue knocked on the wall to grab their attention, wordlessly informing them their guests were ready.

They followed him, Dedue’s bulky body blocking much of the room as he pushed the massive oak door open for them. He gave a stiff bow to no one in particular, moving off to the side where he would observe the going ons aside Hilda and Shamir. Byleth’s party had been allowed that much, the watchful eyes of guards as reluctant to be there as he was. 

And then, there was Edelgard. Violet eyes staring back at Byleth, and only Byleth. 

Her crimson dress and cape draped around her and her chair, and with the gold horns encircling her head she made for a more imposing figure than her meager size wanted her to be. It was funny, Byleth thought, and it was a thought more intrusive than he would have liked. Both she and Dimitri draped themselves in as much armor and fabric as it took to make themselves look scary. Not malnourished, or small. They were little kids playing dress-up. 

Byleth wanted more than anything to glance to Dimitri, try to see how he was handling the moment that felt as though it was dragging on for an eternity. But his eyes remained locked with Edelgard’s, to the point he could hardly register the collection of figures behind her. The Black Eagles, all dressed cleanly and standing at strict attention behind their empress. It unnerved him. He knew them as a rowdy bunch, even during the war. He had never seen them off the battlefield when they weren’t all on the same side. 

Byleth heard the sound of a throat clearing, and realized Claude was subtly trying to nudge him forward with his shoulder. This was awkward, wasn’t it? Just standing there. He was already messing things up. Damn.

Byleth forced himself forward, his feet as leaden as his head felt, sitting down across from Edelgard’s still unreadable face. A hand brushed against his shoulder, and Byleth felt Dimitri sit at his right side. Claude sat at his left, his feet sounding lighter than the others. Byleth couldn’t blame him. As much as Claude had been working hard to make this moment happen, he knew Claude had an out if Fodlan fell back into war.

The only thing that might have kept him there after he got the information he was craving was the knowledge Byleth knew about that out. Blackmail, as much as Byleth didn’t care to think of it that way. Even so, he was thankful for Claude’s presence. Seteth’s too, who had so far kept his composure admirably. 

Byleth swallowed, and he spoke.

“Thank you for accepting our invitation, Edelgard.” Should he have referred to her as Emperor? 

Edelgard folded her hands together on the table, her posture just as confident as her retainer’s was a couple evenings ago. 

Yet, when she responded, her voice wavered. Only slightly.

“You will tell me everything you claim to know about the Nabateans, about the Agarthans, and,” she paused, and for a moment Byleth saw in her face something he could only read as betrayal.

“And about me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not featured is the Black Eagle Strike Force now silently arguing amongst each other Which Lord Got The Hottest
> 
> (the correct answer is obviously seteth)


	27. Together At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, honesty time. 
> 
> The reason this chapter took so long was that I was completely terrified of it. It's such an important chapter, and writing Edelgard I've found to be immensely difficult. I spent hours reading wiki entries just to clear up all the lore in my head (and I still probably messed some stuff up haha). I was so scared of this chapter I started a whole other fic (so if you're into Dimiclaude stuff check it out). 
> 
> I really hope you guys like this chapter. It's long, it's angsty, it's finally got Edelgard, and I am still in fear haha.
> 
> Also, i didn't really split my chapters well so there is a perspective shift from Byleth to Dimi. It's pretty obvious I think, but just to save on confusion since I prefer to keep chapters relatively consistent perspective wise.

Byleth wished she would look anywhere else. 

He wanted to pry those violet eyes away from his, he wanted to run away where no one else was. He wanted to run back to the days where there were two pairs of footsteps in the monastery and the only thing he had to worry about was how he would find dinner that day. 

He wanted her eyes to wander, to question, to show any sort of reaction aside from faint disdain as he rattled off everything he could think of. 

The church, their saints, the Nabatean bones that made up Edelgard’s Aymr, the truth of her ancestors and the false history Rhea wrote for the sake of keeping some faulty semblance of peace. Her desire to see her mother once more. The mother currently sitting dormant in his heart.

The Agarthans, the man wearing her uncle’s face, the people who set fire to hundreds of lives, her allies and spies, a manipulated bandit named Nemesis sleeping in the earth, the otherworldly missiles he didn’t like to think about. 

A Fódlan at peace, united under the banner of Faerghus. Where he spent a life as Archbishop, gently untangling the church from political influence. Where the king came so close to major reform before falling asleep at his desk and never waking up again. Then the Fódlan swathed in gold, a bright future of open borders and a charismatic leader shining briefly before it was all ripped back to a single scuffle outside Remire. 

A monastery wracked with war and panic when he said too much, or acted too soon. When he tried to save his father’s life by taking hers, and damned everyone to a war five years early.

The sound of Claude’s cry when the Sword of the Creator sword ran through his closest friend, the sound of Aymr as it sliced through Dimitri’s neck. The regret that forced him back before he ever saw Edelgard take the throne.

The desire for everyone to see the peace they all sought to slaughter each other for. The desire for everyone to live. 

Secrets were slipping from his mouth like grease, and he could sense moments where Claude’s head would snap ever slightly to the side, or Seteth’s leg would bump up against the table, or Dimitri would go rigid. Things he must have forgotten to tell them, or things they didn’t want him to say.

He had a mind to keep a couple things secret. 

He had never met an Almyran man named Khalid. He was not deeply in love with the crown prince of Faerghus. He never asked Edelgard’s opinion on rats.

And by the end, when his mouth and memory had run dry, Edelgard’s eyes remained locked on him. 

“Why did you keep all of this secret until now,” she asked. 

Byleth’s hands fidgeted with themselves under the table. He wanted nothing more than to fish Dimitri’s hand out of his lap, but someone would notice it. Surrounded by so many people, Byleth felt infuriatingly alone. 

He had no good answer to that question. “The Agarthans don’t know about the Divine Pulse. I didn’t want to risk them finding out.”

“If they had found out, you could have gone back to a time when they did not. That is a poor answer.”

He knew that. “I can’t risk abusing it like that.”

“It sounds like have you been abusing it well enough,” Edelgard said, her fingers folding into a red tent on the table. “You’ve been keeping it secret because it’s a bargaining chip.”

“Excuse me?” Byleth straightened, his brow furrowed. “I kept it secret because I could not predict how everyone would have reacted to the knowledge they have been reliving a war for over a decade.” He kept it secret because he was scared of his family despising him. Edelgard was perceptive, he was certain she could have read between the lines and picked that up. “Time travel is not something easily brought up over dinner.”

“But it’s easy to bring up in the midst of war,” she responded. “Convenient, really. In a broad stroke you tell me both that my motives in starting this war were built on lies, and that you can undo any progress I make in the blink of an eye. And you have already used that threat to pull in allies afraid of challenging you.”

For the first time, those violet eyes broke away from Byleth’s, passing over the others. They did not look on with any particular interest. She glanced at each commander like one would at pawns on a chess board; unthreatening, only there to distract from more important things. 

Byleth swallowed, his throat tightening. “Do you not believe me?”

“I believe you.” Her gaze returned. “You should not be able to know the things you know.”

“Then you must believe me, that this war is being waged against the wrong people.”

To Byleth’s surprise, Edelgard scoffed. A small puff of air and a raise of her chin. “You speak as though I am unaware my allies are worth destroying. You know my reasons, and I am sure you know my plans for after all of this.”

“But _this_ doesn’t have to continue, Edelgard,” Byleth insisted. “Listen to us, we are offering you allies. Ones that have not committed atrocities. And ones that are willing to listen, and work with you, and agree with you.” Byleth spread his hands for a moment, gesturing to Claude and Dimitri. 

Claude took the chance to speak up, his smooth voice more level than Byleth’s. “You have to admit, Empress, that Teach wasn’t the only one keeping secrets during the Academy. I personally would have liked to hear about your thoughts on the trustworthiness of the Church. And I know a few folks who have a bone to pick with the existence of Crests.”

“_We_ cannot undo what was done as children.” Edelgard spoke without looking at Claude. “If you agree with my ideals, you could agree to give the Alliance back to Adrestria and save thousands of lives from death on the battlefield.”

“If you stop this war you could be saving lives!” Byleth snapped, raising from his chair and pressing his palms to the oak below him. “We have lords agreeing to work with you, and you still want complete control! Edelgard, listen to yourself!” He could hear the sound of metal sliding in sheathes from the line behind Edelgard. 

“I do not want a lecture about control from a follower of Seiros,” Edelgard seethed. Her face held steady, but there was an added iciness in her gaze that made Byleth’s blood curdle. “I had hoped Rhea had not dug her claws too deeply into you during your time at the Monastery. It’s a shame, Professor, that you were under her thumb from the start.”

He gestured to Seteth, sitting stiffly at the end of the line. Byleth couldn’t tell if Edelgard saw the way it had begun to tremble. “A ‘follower of Seiros’ has agreed to ally with you. We are not bound to Rhea’s wishes, and those wishes were never as far from yours as you seem to believe.”

“Then you will agree to dissolve the church.”

“I can’t do that,” Byleth said. Sweat had begun to bead down his collar and plaster his hair to his forehead. “Too many people in this country need the church. But we can reform it. I’ve done it before.”

“The Church has no place in Fódlan’s future.” Edelgard stood from her chair, folds of red silk draping back into place on her skirt. “Monsters have no place in humanity’s future. Until you understand that, there will be no alliance.”

“You fucking hypocrite,” Claude muttered under his breath, as Edelgard gestured to the Black Eagles, a signal that the discussion had ended as abruptly as it had begun. 

Byleth stood and backed away from his chair. His body felt numb. His head felt fuzzy. Everything was happening too fast. “Edelgard, your war is slaughtering innocents.”

“I am putting down unfit rulers who will drag Fódlan to ruin, placed in power because they won the lottery of noble birth. I am working to save innocents, and all that you have told me has changed nothing. Faerghus and the Alliance will not survive under the rule of leaders still bowing to the church, and the church is run by a madwoman driven by irrational grief. If your commanders agree with my beliefs, they know what they may do to end this war faster.” She swept her way from behind the table, pausing in front of Byleth as her guards began to usher out. “If it puts you at ease, when Fódlan is back under Adrestrian rule, the first thing I will set to do is eliminate the creatures hiding under us. Unfortunately, I must prioritize the ones pretending to save us, first.”

Byleth shook his head, barely able to feel the blood draining from his face, the pounding in his ears. He reached out blindly, grabbing at Edelgard’s wrist, anything to slow everything down. “Please. Please, I have spent lifetimes trying to save everyone from this war. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this all alone.”

Edelgard tugged her wrist away from Byleth’s limp grip, a look of disgust crossing her pale face. “I didn’t want to. I had hoped more than anything in the world that you might have chosen to walk with me. It pains me more than anything to know in some realities, you had. And yet your loyalty remains with what? A child claiming to be the Goddess and speaking nonsense in your head?” Her voice lowered, and as it did, a pained smile crept over her face. “I expected better of you, and yet I never should have. You are delusional. Your obsession with ‘saving us’ is appalling. If you were a normal human, you most certainly would have died already. Perhaps if you had, Fódlan could have remained at peace.”

“I just want to save my family, Edelgard. I want to help you. Please,” he reached out once more, stumbling forward. A sharp slap rang in his ears, Edelgard pulling her hand back from his.

“My family is dead. And it will never include a monster like you.” 

Byleth didn’t know what happened in the next moment. In all honesty, he hadn’t been registering anything for minutes now. Just blurs of red and white and purple, and his broken heartbeat thumping silently in his head to the beat of Edelgard telling him ‘it’s over’. Everything was over. 

Had he failed that quickly?

He didn’t think he blacked out, because there was too much color all of a sudden. And everything was too hot. And loud. 

Why was everyone shouting?

His hands hurt, like he had cracked them against the wall. And he felt something pulling at him, so he began to thrash. He was being attacked? It hurt, there was something grabbing at his chest and it dug knives into his tunic. 

“Byleth please, you need to calm down or you’ll be killed!” The bark cut through the white noise filling his ears. Dimitri was just behind him? He had finally said something. He had been so quiet this whole time. It was his grip on Byleth. Had he snapped and attacked him again?

Byleth felt his mouth move but the sound didn’t rip through the uproar like Dimitri’s voice. He didn’t know what he was saying. His hands felt warm, and wet.

“I know it hurts, whatever is telling you to do this, please don’t listen,” Dimitri pleaded. 

He was confused, Dimitri was the only thing he could hear. Was he not supposed to listen to him?

His mouth mimed words again, and suddenly he felt warm all over. He felt like everything hurt, like the hair on his neck was being plucked out strand by strand. 

He thought he heard Dimitri shout for someone, for help. He should help. Was he in danger? It was his job to protect him, protect his students. He was doing a pretty poor job of that. Just give him a second, Dimitri. In a second he’d be able to see and then he could help.

Byleth heard a crack, and felt a bolt of pain against his forehead, pained colors blossoming over his vision before they were promptly swallowed in black. 

\---

Dimitri didn’t remember his old classmates being so short. 

He wasn’t sure why, of all things, that is what chose to stick out to him at the moment. But it was relatively harmless, and a little bit funny, so he allowed it to stay. 

He didn’t much care for the way people tended to shrink when he was around. Ever since he had decided that he didn’t like being treated like a rabid hound everywhere he went, he had started growing self conscious of his unexpected growth spurt. 

That being said, Hubert having to quietly come to terms with the fact that they were now the same height was a little bit hilarious. 

“You really must be completely mad,” Hubert grumbled, and Dimitri thought he might be trying to subtly stand on his tip toes. The poor man must have grown so used to looking down his nose at everyone, he didn’t know how to cope now. “No, you may not speak with Lady Edelgard.”

“I am unarmed.” Dimitri raised his free hand as if to prove it, the other still cradling a small leather sack. “And I am not even in armor. I should pose no threat.” He gestured down at himself, dressed only in the black underclothes he wore beneath his usual ensemble. Hubert didn’t need to know that fact had his heart racing a mile a minute. He kept suppressed the urge to glance back over his shoulder every couple seconds, or the quiet insistence that he should be gripping a lance. He didn’t need them. He was safe. 

He was safe and he didn’t need Byleth and he could do this himself. 

“I have heard of you killing people with your bare hands,” Hubert replied.

Ah, well. 

“I have no reason to harm Edelgard.”

Hubert raised an eyebrow—or whatever muscle that should have had an eyebrow attached. “You two are enemies of war, you fool. I personally should kill you now and save everyone the time and effort.”

“But you are not going to, because of the bare handed killing part, yes?”

Hubert let out a long sigh. “Leave.” 

“You are using _my_ infirmary,” Dimitri pointed out, straightening himself and going for a different tactic. “I should not have to request permission to enter my own rooms.”

“Unless you are the head of the Church, nothing in this dilapidated building is yours.” Dimitri wanted to argue with that, but he didn’t really want to admit how long he had been living here in order to do so. “And we are using it because _your_ commander put her in there. It is payment so that you may keep this place a few more days before we raze it to the ground,” Hubert hissed.

Dimitri huffed, holding the little bag up, dangling from his grip. “It is just medicine. I only want to speak to her briefly, to give her medicine. It will help her sleep through her injuries. You are more than welcome to check for poison. You can be in there while we talk if you so wish.”

“No.”

“Just for a moment, I just want to tell her something,” Dimitri pleaded. He glanced over to the other side of the door, where a handsome young knight was trying very hard to pretend like he was not also part of the conversation. Dimitri absently thought his current look was an improvement. Less stuffy. “Ferdinand, you must understand.”

“I understand that you won’t leave us alone if we keep saying no,” Ferdinand mumbled, not eager to look him in the eye. “Hubert, if we are both inside, maybe—”

“—I am not risking My Lady’s safety at the request of whatever it is this is,” Hubert spat, gesturing at Dimitri. 

Ferdinand sighed. “You are just as impossible. Do you not think Lady Edelgard could defend herself?”

“Not while she is injured, you daft idiot!”

“Then you think yourself not capable of defending her?”

Hubert snarled, wheeling on Ferdinand. “That’s not—Ferdinand, I will personally put you in the front lines with nothing more than a rusty sword!”

Ferdinand scoffed, folding his arms over his chest and tossing his hair back in a way that felt much too practiced. Dimitri had never understood the Black Eagles very well, and he found himself understanding them less with every passing moment. “And risk losing one of Lady Edelgard’s most valuable commanders? What poor judgement from someone I would expect better from!”

“Silence, you insufferable—”

An exasperated and muffled growl cut through the infirmary door, silencing both men in an instant. 

“The two of you will cease fighting and just let the damn man inside this room.”

Hubert had shrunk the few inches he had falsely attempted to create. “But, My Lady,” he started.

“Let him in, Hubert.”

Dimitri had seen his fair share of death glares during his short life, but the one that shot from Hubert’s sunken face was one he was worried could physically render him in two. The retainer took hold of the handle and jerked it open, and when he was not given an order to enter himself, he returned to his spot with arms clasped tightly over his chest. 

“A single cast of Mire would mean a slow, painful death for you.” 

Play nice, Dimitri translated. “Thank you, Hubert.” He slid past the guards as gracefully as his unwieldy body would allow, the old door creaking shut behind him. 

When he looked up, he found Edelgard bundled in blankets on an infirmary cot. Her snow white hair was out of its headdress, curtained around her face and emphasizing the growing purple welts that were pockmarking it. There were seared marks of red skin between the dark bruises where a fire spell had threatened to be fully casted at her. Her headdress rested on top of her red gloves and gown, neatly folded on the bed next to her and leaving her only in the thin gown she wore underneath it. She was gazing out a nearby window, tired eyes more interested in a woodpecker distantly drilling holes into a tree just outside than she was with her visitor. Her shoulders were slumped, her expression calm. Unbothered despite being stuck in the enemy’s infirmary, an opposing commander standing stiff and awkward against the shut door. 

Dimitri’s stomach twisted, and he couldn’t figure out why. It could have been guilt over what just transpired. Or fear of being alone with the one person he’d believed had destroyed what remaining life he’d had. Maybe that feeling was resentment, instead.

Or it was the knowledge that he really could kill her, and end this war she’d chosen to cling to.

Maybe it was the feeling that a part of him still wanted to.

His tongue tripped over itself as he tried to speak. “I came to bring you medicine.”

“So I heard.” Edelgard’s attention remained drawn to the window. 

Dimitri rocked quietly on his feet, scuffing against the floorboards dearly in need of dusting. The dried herbs crackled as his grip on the bag moved. He tried not to fidget with it too obviously. When he finally responded, it came out defeated. He had no other tone to use.

“You are truly indifferent to me, aren’t you?”

That got Edelgard’s eyes on him, for a moment. A brief glance, not unlike after her appraisal in the war council room. Dimitri shuffled forward and found a stool, close to Edelgard’s bed but still a healthy distance away. 

“You only had eyes for Byleth that whole time,” Dimitri said. His laugh came out weak, and soft, and bitter. “Five years of my life I spent obsessed with ending you, and all that time I must never have crossed your mind. Other than perhaps a curiosity over where Cornelia’s prisoner must have run off to.”

Edelgard’s lips pursed, properly focused on her visitor now. She didn’t respond.

“Byleth told me you had merely forgotten about me, after all you had gone through. I guess I already figured that, but,” he chuckled nervously. “You were hard to read in the academy, obviously. And I don’t understand people very well. I thought maybe you resented me for something, or you benefited politically from not associating with me.” An herb snapped under his thumb, and Dimitri set the bag on the ground before his anxious hands ground the medicine into powder. “Maybe that was true, too.”

Edelgard let out a sharp huff of hair through her nose, her response cold. “If you came in here to reminisce, then you may leave now.”

Dimitri shook his head, his stomach continuing to twist in knots. Perhaps there were still tonics for nausea hiding in the back of one of those cupboards. “I came to apologize.”

For the first time, an expression aside from disinterest flashed over Edelgard’s face. Her eyebrows popped up, her eyes squinting and leaving little wrinkles at the corners. “On behalf of the Professor’s actions, I assume? It will not change my decision.” 

“Oh no, I think you deserved that.” Dimitri smiled, a thin little thing. “I should thank Byleth. Had he not snapped like that, it was very possible I would have done something far worse.”

Her arms folded over her chest, her lips pursing tighter. “What is it you are apologizing for, then?” The tips of her fingers were still red from where she had scrabbled to get Byleth off of her. 

“For placing the blame of Duscur on your shoulders.”

There was a pause, Dimitri knew the admission must have come out of nowhere. “A foolish belief, given I was a child at the time,” Edelgard remarked after a moment of thought. “Do you expect me to applaud you for giving up on a baseless accusation?”

“I do not expect much of anything,” Dimitri admitted. “I just wanted to apologize. For now, and maybe for a past me that never saw past his grief.”

“This changes nothing.”

“I did not expect it to.”

“Then why would you bother?” Edelgard’s mouth turned further downwards, her brow furrowing. “Why would you waste my time with something this pointless, if not to get something out of it?”

“Not everything has to have an ulterior motive.” Dimitri rocked his stool back for a moment, a light sigh escaping his lips. He didn’t think this would go well, but this was still disappointing.

“And that belief is exactly why you have made for such a disappointing leader, hasn’t it?” Edelgard’s gaze turned back to the window, like Dimitri wasn’t worth looking at once again. He didn’t blame her much. “You are incapable of standing on your own feet, so you trust the church to prop you up instead. And then they will take advantage of that trust.”

Dimitri opened his mouth to respond, only for the sound to catch in his throat. Edelgard’s words continued to barrel over him. “You have always been weak, a soft embarrassment to come out of a nation as war-hardened as Faerghus. You are just like all nobles,” she said, her voice raising louder, eyes glaring daggers at their translucent reflections in the window. “Waiting for others more capable, more deserving of leadership to shove you forward. You are more interested in following your feelings over the good of your nation, and look where it has landed you.”

Edelgard’s head whipped to the side, her shoulders tensed and her lip caught in her teeth. She was holding something back, and the stress of it looked like it threatened to snap her frail body in two. She did look frail, Dimitri realized. Once the glamour of control and power was stripped from her, she looked as tired as he did. 

“Do you not think I wanted to come to you, or to Claude, or to the Professor? To confide in any leader my fears of where these nations were heading, and find a strong ally that would help me see a better future through? I _wanted_ to believe in the strength of my fellow men,” she snarled, her eyes glinting in the receding sunlight. “And instead I learned my two classmates would be a stranger who poisoned people for fun, and an orphan boy that failed to command the respect of his own childhood friends! Weak Fódlan monarchs that Rhea could strip power from in seconds!”

Dimitri’s eyes flicked to the floor, and he kept his hands folded tightly together. He counted the feet between them, just to remind himself there was distance. Just like with Felix, this could pass in peace. “Is that why you tried to kill us almost as soon as you met us? You had decided we were not salvageable from the start.”

“We would never have seen eye to eye. I thought I could preemptively save thousands of lives at the cost of yours. Peace will come when there is one leader to guide Fódlan there.”

“You’re scared of trusting people.” Dimitri raised his head, cocking it slightly. “Everyone in your life failed to help you, and now you think you’re the only one capable of helping yourself.”

Her eyes squinted once again. “Pardon? Have you missed my point? I am not afraid of trust. Creating a peaceful world is my responsibility, and I will see it through on my own.”

And at that, Dimitri laughed.

Edelgard’s frustrated expression broke into confusion, her hands balling up and stretching the cotton sheets she was swathed in. “How dare you laugh at me,” she started, only for Dimitri to interject.

“You sound just like Byleth,” he smiled. “Two strong people bent on saving the world all on their own. You two must have gotten along so well when he chose your class.”

Edelgard scoffed bitterly, “So you think I’m strong.”

“I always have,” Dimitri nodded. “Which is why I can’t understand why you won’t end this war, and work with us. War is easy for the powerful. It’s easy for those of us with magic weapons and crests and enough money to run away with when we know we have been backed into a corner, right?” Dimitri shifted on his stool, his boots scraping against the floor, too loud for how dead silent the room had become. “I thought I was powerful, enough to kill you. And living in that reality, where I was a beast with nothing left to fight for than revenge, was easier for me than facing the truth. It was easier than sitting here now, speaking to you. It’s easy to be alone and powerful.”

“How eloquent. Did the Professor write that for you?”

Another astonished laugh bubbled up from Dimitri’s throat. “I was not a terrible public speaker, I will have you know. All I wish to say is that I do think you are strong.” He held onto his smile, and he tried not to dwell on the thought that he would never be as good at this as Byleth. As calm as he looked, every word felt like a shot in the dark. “And I do not think a strong person would be content with the easy way to peace. Humanity is not as powerful as you are, I think. But to make up for that by leaning on each other, and trusting each other, that isn’t weakness. And you are right, such strong people deserve strong leaders. But if you are so scared of taking a hand held out to you, then perhaps you are not the strong young woman I admired, once.”

Another long pause held in the room, distant clacking of footsteps on marble and the creaking of movement above them sounded about the wooden walls. Edelgard’s eyes had sunk to her lap, but there was a light in them, as though she was concentrating, not crestfallen. Her voice was low when it finally slipped out. “That young woman died a long time ago.”

Dimitri shook his head, “You misunderstand me. I am not just talking about the Adrestrian girl that taught me to dance.” He leaned forward, wishing Edelgard would really look at him, just once. 

“I admired the leader of the Black Eagles, who never lost control. Who held the respect of every one of her peers, who never had a moment of hesitation, any hint of doubt. I admired the Princess of Adrestria, who believed in her ideals so deeply no tragedy would ever sway her from them. There was a moment where I admired the capable, brave, untouchable Edelgard dressed up as the Flame Emperor, just as much as I wanted to rip your head from your body. You were the leader I desperately wanted to be, that everyone around me expected me to be, that were disappointed in me when I was not.”

He stood up, stumbling forward slightly when he realized he’d grown light headed. Stress had become such a constant feeling he never quite knew when it would rear its head physically. Edelgard seemed unfazed, and so he continued. “That is why it pains me so deeply to look at you and feel hate.”

“I thought you had forgiven me,” Edelgard mused, but nothing was light about her tone. 

“I had apologized for my misplaced hate. I now know it lies correctly on the shoulders of my one living family, who would still throw her lot in with the people that destroyed more families than one could count. Who killed my family, who destroyed my best friend’s world, who you saw kill a loving father, and you chose to treat it as collateral damage. My hate is on the sister who would declare a bloody war and use the suffering of those now fighting it to justify it. I hate the woman who would rather see her enemies as inhuman, because she fears considering they may be as complex and deserving of peace as the humanity she champions. The one that looks at a dozen hands outstretched and bats them away because her arrogance has convinced herself she alone would save the world.” He bent down, grabbing the bag of medicine and dropping it on an empty spot of the cot. 

“I hate you, no longer on behalf of the dead. I hate you because you have become a loathsome human being.”

Edelgard looked Dimitri in the eye, the first time she had actually looked at his face. Looked at him as a person, not a nuisance. It startled him. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Mostly. Take the medicine before bed, it is a powerful sleep aid. You can grind it into tea. There is not much left, but you should only need it for one night. And there was one other thing.” He fished behind his back for something he’d hidden in his belt. “I lied about being unarmed.”

Edelgard shot up from where she had slumped against the bed frame, her hand scrambling for something under her pillow. Because of that, she couldn’t tell what had just been dropped by her feet.

“You threw that at me four years ago. I finally found it while digging around my old room. It looked well used, so I thought you might like it back.”

Edelgard eyed the dagger like the blade had been coated in poison. The handle, a simple spiral of blue, had faded to an ugly slate shade in spots where a hand once repeatedly grasped it. The metal of the blade had chipped and bent where debris had spent years hiding it. But there was a subtle polished sheen to what bits of metal were unharmed. 

She forced herself up, and Dimitri could hear muted cracks and pops from a back and neck too used to spending whole nights hunched over a desk, or holding the weight of an axe. Edelgard pulled the dagger closer to her, her fingers wrapping around the familiar weapon. “If you hate me, why would you come here.” 

Dimitri slid his stool back beside the other cot, shuffling back towards the door. Muffled conversation had grown louder on the other side of the door, a debate over whether or not they would be interrupted. 

“Because I hate myself, too. If I am learning to show kindness to myself despite that, I can extend the same to you. And,” Dimitri hesitated, his hand resting on the door handle. “Byleth still loves you, despite everything. I don’t think I have to forgive you, but one day I would like to love you again, too.”

Dimitri didn’t wait for a response, and if there was one he did not hear it through the sound of the infirmary door locking behind him. He could feel Ferdinand and Hubert’s eyes on him the entire time he walked through the hallway, and it took everything in him to wait and collapse to the cool stone floor after turning the corner.

\---

Dedue’s look of relief as Dimitri came into sight in the courtyard was palpable. Dimitri tried his hand at a reassuring smile, but the disapproval that had replaced Dedue’s relief failed to go away. Even so, he had remained in his spot guarding Byleth’s room like Dimitri asked.

“Your Highness, with all due respect,” Dedue called as Dimitri approached, “never do that again.”

“I was fine, Dedue. See?” He raised his hands up, a lovely display of no fatal wounds anywhere on his person. “How is Byleth?”

“He was still asleep when Mercedes had gone in to check on him. Aside from the welt that was left, he is uninjured.”

Dimitri sighed, grumbling, “Claude really did not have to hit him that hard.”

“I assume Edelgard was awake?”

“And very unpleasant to talk with.” Dimitri’s smile was undermined by the way his eye drooped sadly. “I did not expect to change her mind, but now I fear I have only made it worse.”

“I do not believe this could be worse, Your Highness.” When Dimitri didn’t respond, Dedue rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. “You have done all that you could.”

“Has the monastery begun to evacuate?”

“Some of the Seiros and Alliance knights have begun the process of moving. Claude has been working to secure a possible new base of operations at the border of the Alliance.”

“What about the Black Eagles?”

“They are remaining in the war room, taking shifts guarding themselves and the infirmary. We believe they can not safely warp everyone from the monastery, but for what reason no one can say. None of them have attempted to attack, but they are refusing visitors.”

Dimitri laughed bitterly. “Do they think we would try to recruit them?”

“If Edelgard is awake, I am sure they will be leaving soon.”

“Do you think there is enough time for me to check on him?” Dimitri asked, nodding his head at the door behind them.

Dedue gave a sympathetic frown, and stepped to the side. “I will alert you when the situation changes, Your Highness. 

“Thank you, Dedue.” Dimitri twisted the handle as quiet as possible, pressing into the room and peering at the bed against the wall. He was startled to see a figure sitting up, his back to the door. Dimitri closed the door with a soft click, but Byleth failed to turn his head.

As Dimitri padded closer, he saw that Byleth was leafing through the pages of a book. For how worn the edges of the cover looked, and the shaky handwriting in the yellowed pages, it must have been his old journal Byleth insisted on keeping with him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning a bit of his weight into Byleth’s shoulder to eye whatever meaningless entry he had settled on.

“Would you not rather have a more interesting book?” Dimitri asked, trying to see Byleth’s face through the tangled mess of hair obscuring it.

“I love this book,” Byleth choked out. His voice was hoarse, and small. His hand passed over a passage in the top right corner, sliding his thumb over the faded ink. It was something dated early on into the school year. A meandering account of a failed cooking attempt his professor had been a part of. “The days like these are my favorites. The ones where you sounded happy.”

“If you were there, then of course I was.” He slipped his hand between the book and Byleth’s, tangling their fingers together.

Dimitri felt a weight where Byleth pressed his face into his shoulder, his warm breath cutting through the fabric of his shirt. They stayed like that for a couple minutes, Dimitri’s other hand coming to rest on Byleth’s back, stroking him absently with a thumb. Dimitri almost missed when Byleth spoke, his voice so muffled it was almost inaudible.

“I’m sorry, Dimitri.”

He pulled Byleth in closer, wanting to come up with something comforting, something, anything. But he couldn’t. He was sorry too. 

Byleth continued, his voice starting to choke as he sucked in breath after breath. “I want to go back. I want to try again. I want to go back to when you were happy and keep it that way.”

“I am happy here, Byleth,” Dimitri mumbled, shifting so he could pull Byleth into his lap and rest his head on his shoulder. “I wasn’t happy then. I’m happy now.” He could hear Byleth desperately trying to swallow back sobs next to his ear.

“I’ve failed, I’ve ruined everything, there’s nothing left. I don’t even know how to win this war now.” Byleth wrapped his arms around Dimitri’s chest and clung so tightly he might’ve left bruises. Dimitri didn’t mind. And he didn’t want to hurt him like he usually did, so he settled for rubbing his back. “I could go back and take you all and flee the country and you’ll never have to live this again.”

All Dimitri could do was shake his head no, and Byleth let out a small wail, his fingers balling up in Dimitri’s shirt and tears starting to leave dark spots on his shoulders. His words came out in a messy jumble between breaths. “I can’t watch you die again I can’t I can’t do it anymore, I can’t keep failing everyone I can’t I can’t I can’t—”

“You haven’t failed everyone,” Dimitri whispered, cutting off Byleth’s rambling by pulling him back and cupping his face in his hands. “Look at me, you did not fail me. Look at all the good you have done for me. You saved me, Byleth.” Dimitri smiled, feeling his own eyes threaten to water. “And look at all the people you’ve brought together. All the people willing to fight for each other, all the people who might have met on the wrong sides of the battlefield otherwise. This was an impossible task, Byleth. But you haven’t failed us. Not yet. As long as you stay here with us you haven’t failed us.”

“I can’t,” Byleth slurred, blinking tears from puffy red eyes. 

Dimitri shook his head, holding him tighter before releasing him with a jolt when Byleth winced. “Please Byleth you can’t leave me. Please. Maybe it’s selfish but you can’t go back. I need you.” Tears began to track down his cheeks and he swore internally. He hated it. He hated being as emotional as he was. He was weak and emotional and driven by selfish feelings and desires, just like Edelgard said. “You promised me, Byleth.”

Byleth shook his head, strands of green plastering to his cheeks and clashing against the red of his face. 

“You promised, you promised you’d stay with me.” Dimitri plucked his journal from Byleth’s lap, waving the cover in front of his face. “Whoever you go back to will not be me. You’re not saving me. The boy who wrote these entries wasn’t _me_. And it won’t be me if you leave.”

Byleth grasped for the journal back, weak whines escaping as he tried to wrap his arms around it. “I can’t, I can’t stay, I can’t keep fighting, I’ll fail and I’ll watch you all die again and I can’t I want it to stop Dimitri I want it all to stop,” Byleth wailed again, throwing all of his weight onto the book and Dimitri’s arm, only ending up in a ball on his lap. “I want it to stop! I want it all to stop I can’t it needs to stop everything needs to stop!” His hands began to scratch at his face, curling in on himself, tangling up in his sheets. 

More tears began to fall down Dimitri’s face, Byleth’s growing panic terrifying him. Byleth was the strong one, he was the composed one. He had broken down before, but this was different and it was too delicate for him and he needed it to stop because if he kept speaking he would break something again. “Please Byleth, please I just need you to be strong. We can get through it you just need to be strong—”

“I never asked for this, Dimitri!” Byleth shot up, his face contorting into a pained grimace as he grabbed at Dimitri’s shirt. “I never asked to be born like this, I didn’t want to have to be strong! I just want to be a normal human and if I can’t I want it all to end. I’m not strong like you! I’m not strong, and I can’t keep doing this! I can’t, I don’t want to live like this,” Byleth trailed off, fresh sobs beginning to bubble out of him.

He didn’t know what to do. All he wanted was Byleth to stay. He thought Byleth wanted to stay too, deep down. But he didn’t know how to tell him that. All of the stories, all of the nightmares Byleth told him about and he still could not fully grasp what hellish life Byleth had trapped himself in. To tell him to suck it up and keep fighting felt callous. To tell him it was okay for him to go was a lie. 

So he did neither, because silence was comfortable and familiar for both of them. He held Byleth until both of their sobs began to recede, stroking his hair, his back, humming old hymns from school off-key when it was the only thing he could think of. He nuzzled his face up against Byleth’s neck and made sure Byleth could feel his breath and know he was alive and still there, because that’s what comforted Dimitri at night. And when the sobs fell back to whimpering, he rocked Byleth in his lap and spoke to him soft and comfortingly, ignoring his stray tears that dripped down onto his shirt to mix with Byleth’s.

“Thank you for living, my beloved. Thank you for fighting for so long.”

Dimitri could see a watery eye peering up from between unkempt bangs, but Byleth couldn’t seem to get another word out.

“It was selfish to ask you to be strong, when you’ve spent your whole life being strong, wasn’t it? I’m sorry,” Dimitri said. He gently began to move strands of hair from Byleth’s eyes, wiping wet trails from his cheeks. “You don’t have to be strong anymore, if you don’t want. You have me, and you have everyone, and we can be strong for you. You’ve done so much for us, let us return the favor.”

“I’ve failed you,” Byleth whimpered.

“We’ve all failed. As leaders, as decent people. War itself is a failure, isn’t it? But that doesn’t mean that failure has to be carried on your shoulders alone.” Dimitri chuckled, but it only came out as an odd croak. “I can take a little bit more guilt. You helped take so much of it from me already.”

Byleth’s lip trembled as he shook his head again. “I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. I can sleep through the night now. I am able to take meals with my friends. I’ve fallen in love, Byleth. You’ve made me more happy than I thought I ever deserved to be. This war can’t take that from me. Only you can.” Dimitri took a breath, keeping a gentle hold on Byleth’s arm. Every possessive bone in his body wanted nothing more to grab him and run. Tie him up so he could never go back. Go back and drive Areadbhar through Edelgard’s heart so Byleth would stop crying. Do things he knew he wasn’t going to do because he had been getting better, and Byleth had been so proud of him. 

“If you want to go back, I won’t stop you. It’s your choice. But know that if you do leave, you will never stop being my beloved.”

Dimitri watched as more tears welled up in the corner of Byleth’s eyes and rolled down to drip on the bed. He slowly pushed himself up from where he had begun to slump into a pile, only to lean all his weight against Dimitri’s chest. He felt so, so small.

“I don’t want to leave.” Dimitri found Byleth’s hand, and Byleth gripped it tight. “I want to stay. I want to live, with you.”

Dimitri bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of Byleth’s head, muttering against him, “Thank you.”

A long, quiet moment passed before Byleth piped up, his voice scratchy from his crying.

“Did I,” Byleth began, “Did I really attack Edelgard?”

“A little bit. I am not really in a position to judge you for that, though.”

“Did she knock me out?” Byleth asked, prying himself away from Dimitri’s now slightly damp shirt. 

“Oh no, that was—”

“—Claude Von Riegan, you may not enter and this is your final warning!” Dedue’s bellow snapped both men’s heads up to the door, where a raucous banging had begun to pound against the wood.

Claude’s sing-songy voice called out from between each bang, “Open up love birds this is a little important!”

Dimitri glanced at Byleth, who gave a very unhelpful shrug, before answering. “You may enter?”

“Your Highness—”

And then the door was flung open, slamming against the attached wall as Claude burst through, grin splitting his face from ear to ear. For someone with a habitually fake smile, this one felt unusually real. Dedue stumbled in after, frustration still plastered over his otherwise stoic face.

Byleth was already frantically wiping at his face with his sleeve as if Claude wouldn’t notice the puffy cheeks, or Dedue hadn’t heard each wail in unfortunate detail.

Claude clapped his hands before Dimitri could question his abrupt entrance. “I am so glad you’re both dressed. Your Princeliness, I have no fuckin’ idea what you did, how you did it, and I expect you to tell me in great detail for future reference but right now I need both of you in the war room right this second. Also sorry about the head trauma, Teach.”

Byleth was too busy blinking in confusion to respond, so Dimitri did instead. “What has happened, what do you mean what did I do?”

Claude’s grin grew impossibly wider, and he flung himself over Dimitri’s shoulders, clumsily hugging them both. “Either Teach knocked some sense into her, or Your Highestness is just too damn charming because our little Empress has agreed to a temporary cease fire!”

Byleth’s eyes popped open wide, while Dimitri jolted up to his feet, nearly toppling Claude to the floor in the process. “She what?”

“Don’t get too excited, it’s still not a peace treaty yet,” Claude admitted, stumbling back to his feet. “But it means they’re not gonna try to burn down the monastery tomorrow, and there’s still room for negotiations. Now get dressed and over there before Seteth and Hubert kill each other or something.” And with that, Claude bounded back out of the room, leaving Dimitri, Byleth and Dedue standing in stunned silence.

“...My armor.” Dimitri patted his chest suddenly, looking around in more panic than he’d felt before this whole day had started. “Where did I put my armor?” He was getting a little sick of his realities being upended without his say so, given he’d already come to terms with this one. He began to push his way out of the room when he felt something grab his wrist and pull him back. 

When he turned, Byleth was grabbing onto his face and yanking down, pulling him into a hard kiss that was still too wet from tears and too quick to calm him. Byleth muttered against his lips, relief and a little bit of pride hanging from his breathy, hoarse voice. “You went and talked to her, didn’t you?”

“Ah, uh, maybe,” Dimitri stuttered, his body relaxing a bit when Byleth found his hand and squeezed it, an exhausted smile on his splotchy face.

“Thank you,” Byleth said. “Thank you, my brave lion.” His smile grew just a little brighter, even if Dimitri could see the way he’d begun to tremble on his feet. “I think you may have just saved everyone’s lives.”

Dimitri could only stand there and stare, the realization struggling to break through his tragically dense head. And now was a terrible time to try out new pet names, Byleth. What was he thinking? What would he tell Edelgard if he walked in with a blush? What was happening anyways? 

He didn’t fix things, he didn’t save or protect things any more. He didn’t think he did. 

He didn’t have time to think any longer before Dedue was grabbing him, dragging him as polite as possible out the door. “You left your armor in your room, Your Highness. I will help, you may meet the Professor in the war room.”

“Right, right.” Right. Cease fire? Treaty? Speaking to Edelgard again. He didn’t want to. But he could, he thought. He could, and Byleth would be there again, and he wouldn’t be leaving. He could survive this. 

He could protect what little bit of happiness he had now, maybe.

\---

Dimitri tried to not look as if he had burst through the doors, and he was fairly certain his cloak was still a little askew. Seteth, Claude and Byleth were already at their seats at the table, leaving his spot at Byleth’s right, the only chair still empty. He almost threatened to freeze up on the threshold until he felt the weight of Dedue’s palm on his back, shoving him forward.

Edelgard raised her head from where she had been focusing on a piece of parchment, her red gloved hand delicately gripping a quill pen. Dimitri felt both a surge of terror, and slight relief when he realized Edelgard’s face still bore a slight resemblance to a prune and it made his own disheveledness pale in comparison. Even so, she held herself with the same regal air as before. 

Her eyes, bright and full of a fire that hadn’t been there when they had spoken, met Dimitri’s. She gave a polite smile, setting the pen down with a gentle click. 

“Nice of you to join us, Prince Dimitri.”

Dimitri almost tripped walking forward, and he chose not to think about that. Regal. He was a regal prince. He was still a prince? That was strange, actually. Claude and Edelgard were going by new titles and he was still Prince Dimitri. Did he mind that? He didn’t really want to be king anyways. This was not an important thing to be thinking about. Focus. Why was everything terrifying all the time?

“Forgive me for, ah, for my lateness, I,” Dimitri trailed off, and fell into his seat instead. 

He was surprised to find a dagger sitting on the table in front of him. 

Not the one with the worn grip, but with intricate engravings on a beautiful, untarnished blade. The one he had sent in the message to Edelgard, that he’d regretted doing every day since. After losing that piece of Byleth he could keep close at all times.

“I had no interest in keeping everyone’s things. And I am not in need of two daggers.”

Dimitri nodded, and wordlessly picked up the dagger from the table. He was relieved to have something to fidget with that wasn’t his own hands as the talking began. 

His finger kept catching on the thin purple ribbon that had been tied to the hilt, but he kept it there anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man it's happening
> 
> For fic updates and art because i do that from time to time follow me @Horobinota and @Horobinota-Arts on twitter and tumblr and @Horobinota_Arts on instagram. :D


	28. Weapons of Mass Destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Another new (and fairly difficult) chapter to write! Lots of drama once again. Maybe I'll get to write fluff again soon. :"I
> 
> Thank you all again so much for your absolutely heartwarming comments from last chapter. <3 I'm sorry I'm often too shy to reply directly (although if you ever have direct questions i try to reply to those!), but please know ya'll's words mean the absolute world to me. This fic wouldn't still be going if it weren't for your support. I just hope I can continue meeting your expectations!
> 
> And speaking of going, we're starting to reach the end! I don't know for sure how many chapters will be left, but probably no more than four or five (famous last words). So keep holding on 'til the end!

The negotiations lasted all through the remainder of the evening and into the night. By the time everyone in the room began to blink the first rays of sunlight out of their eyes, the quill pen was finally passed around for signatures. The fourth one since the evening began, entirely the result of Dimitri’s nerves any time the need for him to write something cropped up.  
He’d been mortified the first time his shaky gauntlets snapped the quill in two, but Claude and Byleth had laughed it off and it promptly became a running joke for the rest of the night. By the third casualty, Byleth swore he’d seen Edelgard crack an exasperated half-smile. That might have been an exhausted hallucination, though. 

Byleth watched as the parchment was settled in front of Seteth. He was the first to take the quil as he had been the one doing the most of the transcribing, his signature as neat and even as the rest of his script. Then came Claude, adding a little looped flourish to the ‘g’ in ‘von Riegan’, while a pleased smile remained stuck on his face. Byleth took the pen next, his eyes sweeping over the mass of words and rules and reluctant agreements plastered across this page and the couple scattered about the table. 

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t everything he wanted. It wasn’t even technically a peace treaty. But it was enough.

Claude was right, it was really only a glorified cease fire, and it had taken hours to wear Edelgard down on even the simplest amendments. Byleth had come close to taping Hubert’s mouth shut every time he offered unsolicited advice from where the retainer stood uncomfortably next to Dedue and Hilda. 

Edelgard agreed to temporarily cease any campaigns invading further into Faerghus and Alliance territory. She would ease pressure on the foreign nobles whose land she’d already encroached on, but would not pull out the troops already stationed there. Byleth and his allies, in turn, would not attempt to remove those troops, as if they had the resources to do so anyways. Rhea would remain in captivity, but her conditions would be made better after Byleth insisted Edelgard was inadvertently putting her on the verge of death. These terms would hold for a month, before they would reconvene to determine how the war would continue. The first half of the pseudo-treaty all delved into unnecessarily specific related terms and conditions. Byleth was thankful that he had Claude for this, as the man had a gift for negotiating and that skill hadn’t disappeared since Byleth taught him. Between his and Seteth’s mind for detail, they had left no potential loophole unaddressed. Whether that was to Edelgard’s dismay or not, Byleth couldn’t quite tell. 

The second half of the parchment detailed their other major success; Edelgard would no longer receive military aid from the Agarthans. Byleth had watched her present the offer, and to his shock, present it permanently. Even if the war continued, that alliance would still remain broken. 

Byleth had seen Dimitri’s poorly hidden smile in the corner of his eye when she had announced that. He’d looked proud.

While it wouldn’t do much to cut away at the Empire’s numbers, it eased Byleth’s mind that Agarthan weaponry would no longer be at Edelgard’s disposal. Weaponry, and their experiments. Claude had jokingly considered treating such tactics as a war crime. Byleth didn’t know if war crime was enough of a term for the sight of your student contorting into a massive, disfigured, winged shell of her former self. Either way, the relief that that would never be waiting for them in a throne room in Enbarr was overwhelming. 

It was just a shame Edelgard wouldn’t agree to their last request. He understood, to an extent. After having intertwined her plans for the future so deeply with the Agarthans, to turn against them more abruptly than planned would put potentially all of Enbarr in much more danger than the rest of Fódlan. She would not be joining Byleth as allies in the fight at Shambala. Really, she had not agreed to join as allies in any sort of way. 

Byleth had reminded her of the possibility that the Agarthans would not be the end of it, that there were instances where Nemesis himself rose to wreak havoc across the continent. She acknowledged the possibility, and that was where it ended. It hurt, but at least it meant Byleth did not have to fear attacks from both Adrestria and Agartha, so long as Edelgard kept her word. 

Which, well, maybe he was naive to trust that word. But it was all he had, so he put the quill tip to paper and scribbled “Byleth Eisner” in his embarrassing chicken-scratch. 

Dimitri was next, his deceptively neat handwriting marred by the dark inky splotches brought on by pressing the pen down so hard it made the d’s in ‘Blaiddyd’ all run together into an odd mass of letters. But the pen managed to remain in one piece, and Edelgard picked it up as it was slid to her across the table. Her own scrutinizing eyes scanned the document for long, excruciating moments. Byleth felt his heart catch in his throat at the pause, the incessant pounding in his ears possibly the only that still kept him awake. And then she signed it. Edelgard von Hresvelg, in quick, choppy strokes at the bottom of the page.

The war was on pause.

\---

“Thank you for coming here,” Byleth said, desperate to break the awkward silence that had formed. Otherwise, all he had to listen to were the sounds of his and Edelgard’s boots against the stone. The fact that he couldn’t hear Hubert’s, despite knowing he was slinking about behind them in the shadows, was even more disconcerting. 

All Byleth wanted was a nap. But Edelgard had requested an audience alone before she and the rest of the Black Eagles returned for Enbarr.

Edelgard acknowledged Byleth with a half-hearted grunt, looking out at the surrounding mountains as they came to a rest on the great bridge connecting the cathedral to the rest of the monastery. The purple welts on her face were beginning to shrink, but the bruising remained a sick shade of blackish purple. “I believe it was an uncharacteristically reckless decision. My Uncle believes we went to quell a separate skirmish in the area, and have merely stopped by to investigate why a large force of ours was decimated by what was meant to be a small group of wayward Faerghus nobles.”

Byleth leaned up against the railing, looking out on what had Edelgard’s attention. Some sort of predator bird was circling the sky a ways away. “Is that why you didn’t just teleport away after—”

“—After you assaulted me? Yes. They can track that magic easily. That, and you should know such magic puts considerable strain on the caster. Hubert wouldn’t be able to teleport all of us on his own, which means we would be forced to reveal our very suspicious location.”

Byleth shifted on his feet, his cloak catching in the wind. He tried not to make a point of staring at Edelgard’s injuries. “Would it be worth apologizing for that?”

“Not particularly,” Edelgard said. “Would it be worth apologizing for my comments before?”

“Not particularly,” Byleth echoed.

Edelgard nodded. “Then it seems we are even. Although, I had not expected them to affect you so. Nothing ever seemed to affect you, from what I remember.”

“A shame you weren’t around for my father’s death, then.” Byleth had muttered it more under his breath, but Edelgard heard enough for her head to turn.

Her violet eyes scanned Byleth’s impassive face, strands of white hair batting at her cheeks as the wind picked up further. Her cloak flared out and surrounded both of them like silk wings. “I regret allowing for that to happen to this day, you know.”

“If only you had the time travelling powers, then. Maybe you could go back and fix your mistakes,” Byleth said, pained sarcasm beginning to drip into his voice. “I’ll give you partial credit for it.”

Byleth was surprised to find Edelgard unable to meet his eyes. She turned away, her hands beginning to pick absently at her gloves. “I am surprised that knowing all you know, you were unable to stop it.”

“Sothis said it’s fate. There’ve been a handful of things that I’ve never been able to change no matter how differently I do things. My father will always die. I will always run into you kids in Remire. I’ll always get trapped in that void by the Agarthans and Sothis will disappear. This war will always begin in one way or another.”

Storm clouds began to build around the mountain peaks, a clap of thunder ringing in the distance. This talk wouldn’t last much longer, at this rate, and he still had no idea why Edelgard had requested it in the first place. 

Edelgard was silent for a long while, seemingly indifferent to the lack of time they had left. “What is the Goddess like,” she asked, her voice softer than before.

Byleth’s answer caught in his throat. Even as everyone now knew the truth of Sothis, most had avoided asking him anything about her. Perhaps it was seen as sacrilege by some, others rightly figured it would be a sore subject. Even Claude, curious soul that he was, kept his queries detached and vague. Byleth didn’t know how to answer the question. 

“For the longest time, I did not believe the Goddess herself even existed,” Edelgard added. “Or if she did, she was a malevolent beast. To allow what happened to myself and my family, and to sit passively as the people of her nation suffered, all of that seemed an antithesis to what the Church preached of her kindness.” There was something like confliction in her eyes. 

Byleth swallowed. “Was,” he began, “What _was_ the goddess like. And, well,” he struggled to put Sothis into words. She had become such a constant in each run, even if he often didn’t like to think about her. She had been furious with him the first time he turned back time to Remire. With each subsequent run she became more and more resigned to Byleth’s self-imposed mission. She had grown from chastising him into gentle encouragement. This would be the one, she’d say, knowing full well she would not be around to see the conclusion. She loved the students, the church, and Fódlan as deeply, if not deeper than he did. He loved her dearly, and saying goodbye was always just as hard as it was with Jeralt. 

“She was one of the most human people I had ever met,” Byleth said. “She was funny, a tongue sharper and wittier than mine would ever be. She was kind, gentle when she needed to be and painfully honest when I needed to hear it. She wanted nothing more than happiness for everyone in my life, and it hurt her more than anything that all she could do was sit and watch everything fall apart. She loved Rhea, and she was deeply ashamed of her. She loved you, and Dimitri, and Claude, and could think of no better people to lead the land she loved to some better future. She felt so deeply about things, I think perhaps she had accidentally stolen all the emotions I should have been able to feel.” Byleth willed away the lump forming in his throat. “She believed in Fódlan. And me. Even if it meant giving up one for the other.”

Byleth was relieved to realize the wetness on his cheek was a drop of rain, a light sprinkle beginning to dust the monastery. Edelgard shook her head, beads of rainwater beginning to trail down her headdress. “I don’t understand why you would fight for the Church, if it’s true what they did to you. To turn you into,” she hesitated, rethinking what word was clearly meant to be insulting. “To take away your humanity. A normal, happy life.”

“Just because I’ve fought against you doesn't mean I am fighting for the Church. It’s not as black and white as you seem to think.” Byleth leaned further against the railing, exhaustion pushing down on him relentlessly. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive Rhea for what she’s done to me, and to Sothis. I think the Church of Seiros can no longer exist the way it has for Fódlan to find peace, and I at least think those a part of it are beginning to see that. But I do not need to forgive Rhea to also wish she can find her own happiness. Just as I don’t have to forgive you to want to save someone I see as family. Even if you are disgusted by the idea.”

Byleth was surprised to see the corners of Edelgard’s mouth twitch up at that, her eyes softer than he ever remembered seeing them. “You are now the second person in twenty four hours to say something like that to me.”

Byleth could figure who the first person was. “Dimitri and I spent many months as the only two people here. It doesn’t surprise me we may think a bit alike at this point.”

“I knew that,” Edelgard admitted. “Well, perhaps not completely. After the first report or two of slaughtered reconnaissance troops in the area around the monastery, not long after Cornelia reported Dimitri had gone missing, it was not hard at all to put two and two together. He inadvertently protected you both, actually. Because he never seemed to leave anyone alive no matter how many people I sent to investigate, it was hard to tell when one attacker became two.” Her expression began to waver between seriousness, and a bit of odd amusement. “After a while, I stopped bothering. It was a waste of men to simply send them to slaughter. Perhaps it was my own arrogance that believed he had become nothing of consequence. It was only until other nobles started going missing that I became suspicious again.”

Byleth blinked, actually quite surprised. He had known Edelgard was suspicious of the monastery, but he hadn’t figured she’d already guessed who was there. And he had been so caught up in the stress of everything else to realize that the scouting troops had long since stopped arriving at the monastery. 

“A part of me was oddly relieved,” Edelgard admitted. “I never particularly wanted him executed, even back in Remire. But he was threatening as a sane man. Then to have him alive but otherwise as dangerous as a bear that occasionally wanders too close to camp, it seemed like the best outcome for everyone. As long as he kept his claws out of our tents, he could be free to wander as he pleased. Perhaps that is why I didn’t push the matter further.”

Byleth frowned, recounting the runs he spent away from Dimitri, watching from the sidelines as he stumbled further into madness, always reaching those claws for Edelgard’s neck. “Is that why you never treated him like an adversary?”

“Partially, yes. I did not want to see him as my enemy until he forced himself in front of me.”

“Or until you forced yourself in front of him,” Byleth added, the image of Adrestrian troops flooding onto Faerghus lands playing in the back of his mind. 

“Are you referring to a time where I might have successfully invaded Faerghus? Perhaps. But he is—was,” she stumbled, “delusional. Obsessed with me. With enough resources, he would have invaded Enbarr if Faerghus was not properly addressed. The fact that he would have been harboring Rhea only adding to the issue.”

Byleth shrugged. “Or maybe he wouldn’t have. I’ve never lived in a time where that prediction could have been proven true.” Byleth honestly couldn’t guess at the possibility. The Dimitri he had crossed blades with outside of Fhirdiad had been the sanest he had ever seen of him after the academy. Bloodthirsty, but a thirst directed more at defending what was left of his nation and putting an end to Edelgard’s invasions, even if that end meant her head on a pike. He could picture a different Dimitri charging alone into Enbarr. But the one with the resources to truly invade, that was somehow a harder image to grasp. 

He shook his head, clearing it. “Regardless, you will not have to fear that from Dimitri now.”

Edelgard let out another little grunt of recognition. There was another long pause, until her next question came out soft and gentle, and very much unlike her. “You two are together, aren’t you?” Byleth snapped his head to the side, tensing despite himself. She was bound to figure it out, but it didn’t change how awkward it was to acknowledge it with someone like her. “Everyone has been avoiding saying as much, but it’s quite obvious. He looks at you much the same way he did in the Academy. The only difference is that you now look at him like that, too.”

Byleth coughed into his fist, frantically trying to consider how to tactfully admit the obvious. A part of him even feared it would somehow undermine the cease fire, as if Edelgard would magically be replaced by some jealous spirit. That assuming she still maintained the same crush he knew _she_ had all that time ago. Which, considering she had called him a monster a couple tyrades ago, was a bafflingly stupid concern.

That small smile had found its way back onto Edelgard’s face the longer Byleth failed to respond. “It is just an observation, Professor. It seems to have done good for both of you.”

He nodded. At least that he could acknowledge as true. 

The rain had begun to fall harder on the two of them, and it prompted Edelgard to lift herself away from the railing, signalling the end of their meeting. “I have one more question for you.”

Byleth did the same, burying the bit of apprehension that found its way back into his chest. “Yes?”

“Is the Goddess truly dead?” 

Byleth met Edelgard’s eyes, startled by the way they had sharpened. Bright, demanding a real answer to the question that caught Byleth entirely off guard. A part of him was baffled. Of course she was, he had said as much hardly five minutes ago. 

Another part of him knew exactly what she was asking, and he dearly wished she hadn’t. 

He subconsciously gripped at the part of his tunic resting above his heart, the one that would beat silently for more years than he ever wanted to know. His soft green hair had begun to whip in the wind, all long and wavy and wild, and growing faster than it should. He swallowed, his eyelashes drooping and obscuring the faint glow of his eyes. 

“Probably not,” he said.

Edelgard watched him for a moment more, and Byleth had to fight the urge to shrink under that piercing stare. Then she nodded to herself, folding her arms in front of her chest. “Thank you for meeting with me, Professor.” 

“Thanks for not trying to behead me in secret, Empress,” Byleth answered, falling back on dry humor. 

“If I wanted you dead, I would meet you properly in battle,” she assured, a soft puff of air he had to assume was a scoff escaping her lips. 

Byleth didn’t think that was as reassuring or funny as she seemed to think, but he wasn’t about to argue. Swiping at the droplets of water that ran down his bangs and into his eyes as the rain began to fall in sheets, he turned and motioned for Edelgard to follow him. Her companions would already be gathered to leave, if the others had done their jobs. When he didn’t hear her footsteps tapping behind him, he paused. She was transfixed on something in the clouds. 

Violet rings were forming a tunnel across the sky, silent behind the cracks of thunder echoing around them. 

Byleth didn’t really know why he screamed “run” as if the entire monastery could hear it. 

But it was enough to break Edelgard from her frozen gaze. When she didn’t make a quick enough move to flee, he lunged at her wrist and threw her forward. They were just about at the end of the bridge, both of them slipping their way across the slick cobblestone, when he saw their shadows made stark black against the walls by an explosion erupting from behind them. Byleth shoved Edelgard forward when she tried to look back. It wasn’t worth watching, they didn’t have the time.

Edelgard seemed to figure that out as well, as she called out to the shadows creeping around the edges of the corridor, “Hubert! Warp us off monastery grounds now!”

Just as he was called, Hubert appeared to materialize at Edelgard’s side. His face had contorted into something uncharacteristically anxious as purple embers began to flicker about his hands. 

They would be alright, Byleth thought. They would be fine. He needed to find the others. Everyone, he needed to get everyone out, where was everyone, where had he left the others, where had he left Dimitri—

Another blast, closer, rattled the walls and left a faint ringing in Byleth’s ears. He heard some decoration fall and shatter in a nearby room. He didn’t have time. He didn’t have enough time. 

He felt something catch the edge of his cloak just as he was beginning to sprint down the corridor. His world went violet and his head swam and gravity failed all at once until it came back with all of its force pressing down on his back. The monastery stone had given way to a grassy underbrush his body slammed into as though he’d been bucked from a horse. Something red and gold flickered at the edge of his vision. 

There was screaming, distant, panicked screaming. Byleth rolled over and forced himself to his knees, taking in his surroundings that illuminated with each flash of lightning or crack of an explosion. Hubert was slumped against a nearby tree, panting with what must have been a rapid burst of exertion. Byleth hadn’t even realized it was possible to warp three people at once. Edelgard was close to his side, but facing out towards where the treeline broke and revealed the silhouette of the monastery. 

Byleth twisted his body, ignoring the sharp spike of pain in his ribs, and followed her gaze to the flood of bodies fleeing the monastery. Horses without riders galloped frantically through the marketplace, wyverns that had managed to escape the stables wheeled through the rain with panicked roars as pegasi ducked below them. Blues and golds and reds alike were sprinting from the stone entrance ways, ducking through the dilapidated remnants of the marketplace, finding their own safety within the forests surrounding Garreg Mach. 

Byleth threw himself to his feet just in time for another missile to pierce right through the roof of the main building, forcing his eyes to avert away from the blinding flash. A gust of wind rattled past them, sending small bits of rocks and debris bouncing off his tunic and pricking against his skin. The sound of one of the towers collapsing broke through the rain and screaming, brick and mortar crumbling into the flames already licking at what structures still remained upright. By the time he was standing and dashing towards the fleeing mass, a second spire had toppled.

“Get to the treeline!” Byleth cried, gesturing wildly towards the forest to make up for how little his voice carried through the din. His eyes darted amongst the mob as he ducked around, looking for faces he recognized. He eventually spotted some Seiros knights, Cathrine and Gilbert attempting to direct everyone towards a safer spot. Over time he began to pass students, faces smudged by dirt looking up at him as if he could explain everything away before passing by him in a blink. More than a couple of them held injured limbs to their chests, or were wiping away at blood on their faces. He could see where both Rodrigue—who in the rush of battles and meetings hadn’t even had the chance to return to his territory after his delivery of reinforcements and weapons—and Marianne had managed to commandeer horses, piling on folks behind them. Dorothea clung to Marianne, and was holding her hand out for Ingrid. Ferdinand, also mounted and with Lorenz clutching his cape behind him, was urging everyone onwards.

A sharp whistle pierced against Byleth’s ears, and a great white wyvern descended, clutching what looked to be Flayn and Linhardt in its claws as it lifted off once more. A familiar column of purple in the distance was a sign of Lysithea warping someone who was moving too slowly. Caspar sprinted by him, balancing Ashe in his arms. Seteth’s wyvern flew above his head, Bernadetta’s terrified screeching catching on the wind. 

And finally, Byleth caught the flash of an orange lance gesturing above the crowd. He bolted for it, eyes flicking from that beacon to the sky, dreading another tunnel of rings. 

Looking up was what caused him to almost barrel face first into black armor and fur.

“Byleth, thank the Goddess!” was all Byleth heard before he was hoisted up on one arm, cracking his forehead against Annette’s, who had managed to cling to Dimitri in a piggy-back position. They both ended up reaching down to keep Areadbhar caught in the crook of Dimitri’s elbow, his other arm too busy carrying what appeared to be an unconscious Felix. 

“Dimitri,” Byleth breathed, only now realizing how out of breath he was. “Get to the forest. But you don’t have to carry me—”

“—I thought you were dead,” Dimitri snapped back, only gripping on to Byleth tighter as he focused on pushing up the rear. His voice came out dark and gritty, and Byleth knew it meant he was on his last defense before breaking down crying. He was just as terrified as Byleth. “When nothing happened I thought it meant you’d been killed.”

Nothing happened? Byleth’s brows scrunched up for a moment, before it dawned on him.

“Divine Pulse only works to go back a few moments, it wouldn’t have been enough time to warn anyone,” Byleth answered, now focusing his attention to the sky. No more missiles had dropped since the last devastating one, but that didn’t mean they were safe yet. “Anything longer would have taken time I didn’t have.”

Which meant he had no way to save someone if they didn’t get out of the monastery quick enough. 

Byleth tried to ignore the heavy pit in his stomach, helping hold Areadbhar in place with one arm and using his other to keep Annette pinned against Dimitri’s back. It was a wonder Dimitri was able to keep up pace with the others, Claude and Dedue both eventually sliding up next to him. Claude was making an admirable effort of carrying a semi-conscious Petra on his back. Dedue had Mercedes in his arms, who was cradling a bundle of fabrics and a cloth bag of sewing supplies. 

There was no conversation, just labored breathing and the jostling of metal as they rushed towards the forest. They had managed to make it a ways in, finding relative safety in the canopy of dense evergreens before the whole group of them collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. 

Byleth distantly heard Claude calling for a medic, presumably for Petra. Mercedes dragged herself over to where Felix was laid out on the ground, bleeding from a deep gash on his forehead. Annette climbed off and put her own faith magic to task. Byleth moved to do the same, only to remain caught in an iron grip.

Dimitri mumbled in his ear, almost too quick to comprehend. “We tried to get everyone out. We tried.”

Byleth swallowed back the bile clawing at his throat. “Did you?”

“I don’t know. If we didn’t,” Dimitri tightened his grip around Byleth, his low voice hard to distinguish from where it was muffled against Byleth’s collar, “Please don’t leave. Please.”

Dimitri slowly untangled himself from Byleth, and he was able to get a proper look at his partner for the first time. His face was pockmarked with scratches and bruises, and parts of his towy hair had turned pink and stuck to his cheeks by blood. The deep circles under his eyes left by a whole night of negotiations were even darker. His jaw was set tight, scowling in that defensive way of his, where it was either that or a flood of tears. He stared back at Byleth expectantly, waiting for confirmation. 

Please aside, he wasn’t asking a question. He was making an order.

Byleth nodded, not quite able to get out the words. It was enough, and after one final squeeze Dimitri let him go. The two struggled to their feet, Dimitri digging the blunt end of Areadbhar into the dirt to help hold his weight. Byleth scanned the crowd around them. The back of the mob had been mostly made up of his students, and members of the Church. As such, they were all the most injured, and more than a few of them were laid out on the ground in varying states of consciousness.

“Most everyone had either been in the dining hall getting breakfast, or gathered with the Black Eagles at the entrance to the monastery, when the first explosion hit,” Dimitri explained. Just like Edelgard had requested, before she had unexpectedly called for their private meeting. “We didn’t know what it was at first, until the gatekeeper outside started screaming about these massive weapons flying towards the Cathedral. We knew they must have been the ones you had mentioned from times before, the Agarthan weapons.”

The whole lot of Byleth’s students had focused on ushering the rest of the soldiers out of the monastery, which is why they had still ended up in the back despite their otherwise ideal location. Quite a few of them had only delved deeper into the monastery despite the danger. Byleth wanted to be proud, and he wanted to scream at them all for their foolishness at the same time.

“You owe me one, Teach,” Claude said as he sauntered towards Byleth, eyeing Dimitri. He’d managed to get Linhardt to tend to Petra. Apparently she and a couple of the more badly injured students had been the ones to get to the stables to release the horses, pegasi and wyverns. “Your boyfriend was about to go try to look for you.”

Byleth looked up at Dimitri, whose glower had yet to go away. Claude continued, “Admittedly, telling him he would die looking for a corpse may have been too harsh. I didn’t really think you were dead though, honest.” The admittal didn’t come with as much humor as it normally would have. 

Dimitri shook his head, and Byleth was truly beginning to find his dark expression worrying as it refused to soften. “It was really Felix that stopped me. He’d been the one to realize Claude’s and my relic had been left in the armory. We had both run off to get them, but he’d gotten knocked out by a piece of a collapsing roof on the way back. I couldn’t look for you and carry him at the same time.” 

Byleth watched as Mercedes pulled her hands back from Felix, his head wounds looking significantly better than even moments before. He would have to thank him later. He would have to thank everyone, really. He started to feel himself relax, even if he couldn’t shake that constant sense of dread. He watched Seteth flitting between the trees and collections of injured soldiers, having passing, unheard conversations, and knowing he was likely the one counting who had made it out. He was so focused on the scene in front of him that he almost missed Claude’s question.

“How’d you make it out anyways, Teach? And what about—”

_“EDELGARD!”_

Had Byleth not known better, he would have said that time stood still for a split second. The entire forest seemed to freeze at the deafening roar. Dimitri’s cry echoed through the trees, strong and low and gut wrenchingly terrifying. Byleth’s head snapped up to see Dimitri bearing his teeth, wild blue eye fixated on some point in the distance. He’d managed to bring the clearing to such silence, Byleth could hear the soft whining of a metal lance shaft threatening to be bent out of place. When he pulled his gaze off Dimitri and followed his glare, he could see the flicker of a red cape at the end of it.

“You will explain this, _now_,” Dimitri commanded, with nothing short of a snarl. “Or I will assume this attack was your doing and drive this lance through your stomach here and now!”

“Dimitri, no,” Byleth cautioned, putting a hesitant hand on Dimitri’s arm, only for him to bat it off with a grunt. 

Edelgard stepped further into the clearing, gracefully passing through the groups of injured soldiers. Hubert shadowed her, hand on his belt and more than likely on a hidden blade of some sort. Only Byleth could see the fatigue in his steps. “I did not call for an attack.” 

“Not all that convincing,” Claude mumbled to Byleth’s side. “She doesn’t have a scratch on her.”

“She’s the one who rescued me,” Byleth huffed, stepping forward and ever slightly between the opposing lords. “Calm down, Dimitri.”

Byleth could practically hear Dimitri’s jaw clench. “I am plenty calm. I want to know why her allies would launch an attack and risk killing their Empress and the Empire’s strongest soldiers.”

“They weren’t informed we were here,” she replied, gesturing to Petra on the ground ahead of her, “Why would I call an attack that could kill my own soldiers.” Despite her blank expression, Byleth thought he could pick out a hint of exasperation in her eyes. Or that was just Byleth projecting. 

“Dimitri,” Byleth muttered, “You’re exhausted and stressed, and not thinking straight. She didn’t call this attack.”

Ignoring him, Dimitri pushed past Byleth to meet Edelgard, putting hardly five feet between them. He towered over her, and the handful of people closest shrunk further back from the two. “She ordered them to remain in the entryway, with easy access to flee after the first missile struck. She put herself in harm's way but made sure she had the one person with the ability to teleport them to safety.” Dimitri glanced back at Byleth, his scowl as cold and unyielding as it had been when they’d first reunited nearly a year ago. Byleth suppressed a shudder. “You yourself claim she has sacrificed her own friends for the sake of getting an edge in battle. And protecting you gives her plenty of sympathy.”

“And here I thought you were just a mindless brute,” Hubert spat from the background, prompting Edelgard to raise her hand to silence him. 

She stood her ground, peering up at Dimitri, calculating her responses carefully. For all her credit, she had never recoiled away from an undeniably intimidating opponent. Not before, and not now. “I gave you my word this morning, that I would not make an attack for another month.”

_“Your word means nothing,”_ Dimitri hissed, jerking forward and grabbing the front of Edelgard’s dress, pulling her up to the point she was forced to balance on her tip-toes. Another raised hand stopped Hubert from moving any closer, hidden blade now very much brandished into the light. “All I have ever done is naively trust people, and watch them betray me! Your word meant nothing four years ago, and it means nothing now. _Tell me why I should trust you, Edelgard, tell me why your word means anything anymore._”

The silence was deafening. Byleth found his hand on his sword, and hated himself for it. A part of him wanted to intervene, and another part of him felt the hand grabbing his cloak. Claude hadn’t stopped watching either, but he didn’t look about ready to let Byleth go. 

He didn’t think she had called it. The look on her face in those moments before the first explosion was that of confusion, of shock. He had seen the fear pass over her face as they sprinted along that bridge. 

But Byleth was bad at emotions. He thought that fear was genuine. And he also thought that her kindness was genuine, once. And then she let thousands of people die. 

None of them knew if she was lying. They just had to trust her, it was all any of them had left. But few of them had ever had that trust crumble their world around them, over and over and over again. 

Byleth took his hand off his sword, and watched with the rest of them, waiting for Edelgard’s response.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” Edelgard said. Her voice was low, an attempt at privacy thwarted by just how silent the forest had grown. “You never should have. You were naive, putting too much faith in earnesty and justice.” 

Dimitri’s response was more a frustrated growl than anything else. 

“The Agarthans likely found out what we were doing here, and attempted to be rid of us. That is the only proof I have for you. You’re correct, I could be lying to you. This could all be an attempt to cover up another failed assassination,” she admitted. A resigned smile crossed her face. “It would be useless to ask for your trust now.”

Dimitri flinched, just a touch, as Edelgard spread out her arms. She was unarmed, Aymr having been left with one of the Black Eagles before her meeting with Byleth. Struggling on the tips of her feet, with her arms outstretched, she looked as if she was ready to be pinned to a wall. A bloody red porcelain doll waiting to be displayed, or shattered. 

“If you truly believe my word is meaningless, that my death is deserved, that this is an act of protection, then strike me down here, Dimitri. Show me what you believe is justice.”

A snap sounded, a branch cracking under the weight of a boot shifting in place. Dimitri sucked in a breath, before releasing a guttural, angry cry as he threw Edelgard to the ground. He raised Areadbhar with wild snarl—

—before driving it into the ground just to the left of Edelgard’s head, severing a couple strands of misplaced white hair and sending a shower of dirt up around her. Dimitri turned on his heel before anyone had the chance to move, wordlessly bolting away with his cloak flaring out behind him. 

The entire clearing released a collective breath, and gradually unfroze from their spots. The Black Eagles capable of moving began to rush to Edelgard’s side, a chorus of anxious questions. Most about if she was alright. Some, Byleth overheard, about what the hell was going on.

“That was a hell of a bluff,” Claude exhaled, rubbing his face. “I don’t know if I trust her more or less at this point. That was manipulative as fuck, right, or is that just me?” He glanced back where Dimitri had fled, before patting Byleth’s back where he’d previously been keeping it in a vice grip. “I can handle things right now, if you want to go get him.”

Byleth grimaced, he knew he needed to check on him, but, “I need to make sure that everyone is alright.”

“I think he’s part of everyone, Teach. And he’s not alright.” Claude leaned back, hands on his hips, “Besides, I have a plan for us, but I need a bit of time to make sure it’s doable. We’d already evacuated quite a few guys when we first thought everything had gone to shit, remember? It’s probably why we all were able to get out of the monastery as quick as we did.”

“Do you think we’d all be able to retreat there?” 

Claude shrugged. “It’ll still be a tight squeeze, but we were planning to stop there on the march anyways. And it’ll get us closer to Shambala. I’d guess we don’t have a whole lot of time to put that off now.”

“Professor, a minute please.”

Claude and Byleth both wheeled to face Seteth, Flayn trailing behind him. Both of them looked pale and ragged and more than a little banged up themselves. Having accepted that his secret had been revealed to the world, Byleth noticed Seteth seemed unbothered by the fact his pointed ear was poking noticeably out between tangled clumps of hair. 

Byleth took a breath, he could guess what Seteth was here to tell them. He’d promised. He’d promised he wouldn’t leave, no matter what. “Yes, Seteth?”

“I’ve done a survey of the casualties. There are about a dozen soldiers that are unaccounted for, and a little over half of our forces are injured in some capacity.”

Byleth’s stomach twisted. Flayn swayed out from behind Seteth, adding, “Everyone who was critically injured has been cared for. Moving may be difficult for quite a few, but everyone is currently stable and healing.”

“Good,” Byleth choked out. “The dozen missing, does that comprise any of—”

“All of the old Blue Lions, Golden Deer and Black Eagles students made it out. As did the Knights of Seiros,” Seteth interjected. “Additionally, those unaccounted for are ones I simply could not find. It is possible they were individuals who had fled early and deeper into the forest.”

“Everyone was so determined to get each other out,” Flayn said. “Even the Black Eagles.”

“Between that, and the luck that many of our people were either already away from the monastery or near the entrance, we had potentially no losses.”

Claude managed to catch Byleth before he crumpled to the ground.

“Oh thank the Goddess,” Byleth mumbled, pressing his hand to his face and only vaguely registering how ridiculous that was coming from his mouth. He couldn’t even remember ever using the phrase before. It just slipped out. “They’re all alive. We’re all alive.”

Flayn bent down and clasped her hands around his, warm and small. “We won’t leave you just yet, Professor.” 

“Thank you, Flayn,” Byleth choked out a breathy laugh, feeling too many things to make sense of any of it. Flayn’s eyes lit up at his smile.

“Alright. You go on, we’ll get everyone ready to move one way or another.” Claude gave Byleth a couple pats before hoisting him back into a proper standing position, giving him a gentle shove back towards the edge of the forest. Byleth glanced back for a moment more, then slipped away before anyone else could notice.

\---

Byleth could hear Dimitri before he saw him. He recognized the soft but frantic mutter, the one he would occasionally wake to when Dimitri had already been risen by nightmares, or stumble across when he would retreat into hiding somewhere. Byleth beat back the guilt that he hadn’t run off after him sooner. A flash of blue spotted through the thick of trees gave away Dimitri’s location, and he silently broke through the last of the undergrowth to stand behind him.

He cleared his throat, and gave Dimitri space, just in case. There was a tiny jolt, and the muttering sputtered to a halt. He didn’t turn, so Byleth padded up to his side instead. The two looked out at the ruins of Garreg Mach Monastery. 

What couple towers still managed to stand were smoldering, the rain unable to quench the flames licking out through the windows. The rest of the main building had been reduced to mountains of rubble. The cathedral that normally loomed in the background was gone, decimated by multiple, furious strikes. Fires burned in the forests that dotted the mountainside, threatening to overtake whatever was left of the building. A distant boom resonated from the peaks as another wall collapsed in on itself. 

They destroyed the one place he’d called home.

Byleth startled at a pressure against his cheek, only to realize it was a thumb wiping something away. He really needed to learn how to notice his own tears.

“Shit,” he huffed, what was supposed to be a chuckle coming out more like a shaky wheeze. “I came out here to comfort you, not the other way around.” He looked up at Dimitri, noting the faint red on his nose and the tracks where tears had already been falling. 

“Our home is gone.” There was an emphasis on the ‘our’ that forced Byleth to bite down on his tongue, forcing back another wave of unwanted emotions. His heart ached for Dimitri, who’d already once fled a home for fear of his life. 

Byleth took his hand, pulling them both slowly to the damp grass. It didn’t take much cajoling, Dimitri’s legs giving out at the slightest hint of permission. He’d forgone sitting in favor of slumping over and laying his head in Byleth’s lap instead. One of his hands was gripping his dagger, his thumb running over the base of the blade in repetitive strokes. Byleth focused on brushing out the droplets of water that landed in Dimitri’s hair from the leaves above. They sat in silence, listening to the wind whistling through the forest, the rain growing to a soft patter on the canopy protecting them. 

“I hate her,” Dimitri finally said.

“I know,” Byleth whispered. “This wasn’t her fault, though. You knew that.”

“I wanted to kill her anyways.” He shifted, pressing his face against Byleth’s leg as if that could make the world disappear. “I was so close.”

“But you didn’t,” Byleth started, only to be cut off by a sharp, muffled whine.

“Please don’t. Please don’t praise something like that.” 

He bit his lip, but didn’t say anything more. They sat through another moment of silence. Byleth adjusted Dimitri’s cape so it could cover both of them, blocking the sharp breeze that had picked up.

“I’m never going to be a real king, Byleth.” Dimitri rolled over enough that he could look up through eyelashes catching with water. “She’s right. I’m naive, and I’m violent. I can’t keep control over my own emotions. You saw me next to them, her and Claude. I’m more of a guard dog than a leader.” His mouth pulled into a pained smile, and Byleth wiped away the fresh tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “Everyone says I’m getting better, and they’re lying.”

Byleth shook his head. “You were trying to protect us all. You were trying to do what a good king does. What a good _person_ does.”

“Protecting someone by killing someone innocent?”

“We don’t even know if she’s innocent,” Byleth murmured. “I want to put my trust in her. But you weren’t wrong back there, and I think everyone needed to hear that. Even her allies.” He recalled seeing the concern on their faces as they had tended to their empress, just as they had seen the anger and confusion.

Dimitri rolled more, now on his back and staring blankly at the pine branches arcing over them. “Then all I’ve done is sow distrust amongst our allies, when I should be making sure they are unified before battle.”

“I think you’ve unified us all in the belief that none of us should really trust Edelgard until she can prove she’s not a threat.”

Dimitri groaned. “That’s not what I meant, Byleth. I just,” he bit his lip, Byleth watching the internal conflict play out on his face. 

“We finally have everyone together, and the universe is still trying to tear us all apart, and you think it’s your job to stop that while also protecting everyone at the same time.” Byleth smiled, falling back on gentle chiding. “You big dummy.”

Dimitri closed his eyes, his lips pulling into a faint pout. “You said you came out here to comfort me.”

“And then you started being difficult like usual,” he laughed. “Let me praise you for not stabbing people who may or may not deserve to be stabbed.”

“She doesn’t deserve to be stabbed!” Dimitri argued, amending, “She deserves to be stabbed a little bit, but that’s not really my decision to make.”

“Exactly.” Byleth leaned back on his palms, watching the clouds roil in the sky for a long moment. “It may not be a good reason to trust her, but she just put a lot of trust in you. That you would come to that realization, despite all those emotions.”

“Do you think it was a test?” he asked.

“I don’t know if it could be considered a test,” Byleth chuckled. “But it wouldn’t be unlike her, I think. It was probably just a bluff, the only move she had that wouldn’t make her look even worse. But it did a pretty good job of making you look sane.”

Dimitri’s brow furrowed, confused. “That did not make me look sane.”

“Sane, not unintimidating. You’re terrifying when you want to be,” Byleth smiled. “But she just gave you a very public chance to prove that you’re not mad enough to execute her. In the end, all you really did was shout at and intimidate her.”

There was a beat, and then Dimitri groaned again, pressing his hands to his face. “Why is she always in control?”

Byleth laughed despite himself. “I don’t know. It’s frustrating.” He flopped down on his back, gently easing Dimitri up so his head could rest on his chest instead. Drowsiness threatened to pull his eyes closed. “I’ll help you toss her into a fish pond someday. That can be your new revenge plot.”

“Have you forgotten that you’re on that list too?”

A soft laugh bubbled up from Dimitri’s mouth as he adjusted to curl up against Byleth. Perhaps they could both afford a five minute nap, if everything was being handled as Claude said. They were so tired.

“I know it scares you, Dimitri,” Byleth mumbled. “And it may take more time than any of us have. But I think you’ll make a good king. A kind one.”

Another beat of silence passed, and Byleth could feel an eye peeking up at him. 

“I think the same of you.”

Byleth yawned, trying to think through his sleepy haze. “I’m not gonna be a king.”

“No. But I think you could be a Goddess worth praying to. If that ever becomes the life you want.” He found Byleth’s hand and intertwined their fingers, his own yawn muffled up against Byleth’s tunic. “You’ll be wonderful, whatever path you take.” 

Dimitri’s voice began to slur as sleep overtook him. “A goddess, an archbishop, a teacher, a husband…”

“A what?” he asked. But Dimitri had already fallen into a quiet sleep, and Byleth had no choice but to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can spare the time, I've got an important announcement on my social medias regarding this update, coffee, and charity (that's all I can say on here |"D), so please visit my social medias:
> 
> @Horobinota_Arts (Twitter) and horobinota-arts.tumblr.com (Tumblr) for writing updates and announcements along with art!  
You can also find me on instagram @Horobinota_Arts if you're more interested in art-only content.
> 
> Also props to anyone who noticed the chapter title is a bit of a church pun.


	29. A Moment of Respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *falls to knees* I'm so so sorry this took so long to get out aaaaa,,, Thing have been really crazy, between everything going on in the world, some mental health issues, and also getting through university finals (one of which involved a 19 page essay analyzing the leadership styles of the FE3H lords, ironically enough). 
> 
> Despite the wait, I really hope you guys like this update. It's by far the longest one to date (somehow) and is intended to be one last big burst of fluff before the mad sprint to the end. Either way, thank you for sticking with me this long. ^^
> 
> Also, just as a fair warning; this chapter is as close as this fic will get to that mature rating. I was actually considering bumping it down to teen, but after this chapter I figured it was better safe than sorry. That being said don't get your hopes up this is still pretty tame by fanfic standards, haha. I can really vibe with Dimitri, I get flustered by the simplest things too.

Why was the world moving? 

Or, bouncing? When had the world begun to bounce, and was that something Byleth absolutely needed to wake up over? 

Probably. Or maybe unfortunately. Either way, the world shouldn’t have been bouncing. 

Whatever fabric was currently cushioning Byleth’s face muffled his groan. Everything felt sore, his head was pounding, and the fact that his world continued to jolt a-rhythmically was not helping in the slightest. He turned his head to a chorus of snaps and pops in his neck, forcing his eyes open through whatever had caked his eyelids shut.

The thick of a forest was passing by him at a meandering pace, Byleth finding himself at eye level with a handful of dark, blurry figures that surrounded him on horseback. He was on a horse. That would explain the bouncing. 

How the hell did he fall asleep on a horse?

“Oh, Byleth, you’re awake.” He could make out Dimitri’s voice amongst the low din of horses trotting and armor clanking against armor. “Good morning.”

Dimitri was smiling up at him from Byleth’s left, keeping an easy pace with the stocky horse Byleth found himself on. He was missing his cape, the shaft of Areadbhar resting lazily where a mound of fur should have been. 

“Why,” Byleth mumbled, “Am I on a horse?”

“It was necessary for us to get further away from the monastery, but His Highness was reluctant to wake you.”

The low rumble coming from Byleth’s impromptu pillow startled him into sitting up, only to get stuck half-way. He was tied to the figure he now realized was guiding the horse in the first place. “So your solution was tying me to Dedue?”

Dimitri shrugged. “He insisted that I not spend the entire march carrying you, and his horse is used to carrying a lot of weight. As it turns out, you weigh less than his shield.”

Byleth was debating whether or not to take that as an insult when Dedue continued, “It was no issue. But when we arrive, perhaps it would be best for you to speak to one of the medics. According to His Highness, you have developed a habit of falling asleep somewhat at random.”

“No I haven’t,” Byleth argued, “And half the time Dimitri is asleep with me.”

“For about ten minutes,” Dimitri countered. “You’ve managed to stay asleep for about four hours now. On a horse. And that is not including all the other times I’ve found you asleep.” He shot Byleth a look that said he was more than willing to recount every occasion he’d had to carry Byleth back to his bed. 

But those had been experiments, Byleth wanted to hiss. Experiments and definitely not excuses to get Dimitri to carry him around with that unfairly attractive strength of his. And he was almost certain at least sixty percent of the time he’d fallen asleep in weird places on purpose. 

“I’ve been sleep deprived for months, of course I keep taking naps when I have the chance,” Byleth huffed, fidgeting with the ties that had kept his unconscious body secure. He knew he tended to be more lethargic after Sothis’ soul fusing thing, but it had never been enough to garner attention before. Really though, he just needed a little bit more sleep. Surely any medic would figure that out. Byleth shook his head. “This isn’t important. Where are we going?”

Dimitri looked up through the canopy of trees overhead, as though he was trying to spot something wheeling through the sky. There wasn’t a hint of light escaping through the leaves, Dimitri himself only lit by the soft orange glow of Areadbhar. There was no way to tell what time it was, but it seemed they’d decided to march through the night. “The Leicester Alliance, on the border of Daphnel territory and the mountains separating them from Faerghus.”

The last of the ties undone, Byleth winced as he straightened his back. Everything hurt. “So Claude managed to convince Judith to let all of us stay there?”

Dimitri gave a bit of a half-nod. “Well, he, Seteth, and a handful of other fliers have gone ahead to inform Judith to expect us. I do not think he’s planning to make it a request.” He glanced back at the line of mounted and unmounted soldiers trailing behind them, intermittent torches the only thing marking their positions on the trail. “He’s taken those who were most heavily injured, and plans to prepare the fort for our arrival.”

Byleth noted again his missing cape. “Did you leave something with one of them?”

“You noticed,” Dimitri laughed, a soft, breathy little thing. “Petra was among the most injured. Perhaps I overstepped, but I was concerned she would freeze. Even hardened Faerghus knights dislike flying at night, and there’s no tree cover to protect her from rain. I do hope she doesn’t mind when she wakes up.”

As heartwarming as it was to listen to Dimitri’s concerns, something quickly began to nag at the back of Byleth’s mind. “Why would Petra remain with us? Has Edelgard not left yet?”

“Oh, right, you were asleep,” Dimitri said, as if he’d managed to forget in the span of five minutes. Byleth wouldn’t actually be that surprised. He’s no idiot, but he’d found Dimitri to be oddly selective in the things he remembered. “She and Hubert left for Enbarr, and ordered the rest of the Black Eagles to remain with us.”

Byleth’s brow furrowed, mulling that over. The admission caught him off guard, frankly. He glanced back, trying to seek out any tell-tale swathes of red that would hint to members of the Empire around them, but everything around him remained obscured in shadow. “That’s… surprising. Did she explain why?”

“Not really,” Dimitri admitted. “I wish I could say I had hounded her for answers, but I was startled when she approached me in the first place.”

“His Highness yelped when she came up behind him,” Dedue mused, just loud enough for Byleth to hear. Byleth stifled a sleepy giggle. After all that posturing a few hours before, and then he yelps like a frightened puppy. How very predictable. 

Dimitri continued, having not heard Dedue’s commentary, “She informed me she and Hubert would return for Enbarr to address the attack on the monastery, and that we were to incorporate the Black Eagles Strike Force into our existing army.”

Byleth failed to hold back his snort. “Oh goddess I forgot she called them that.”

“It’s a,” Dimitri struggled, searching his brain for a characteristically polite lie, “It’s a fine name.”

“It’s ridiculous, Dimitri.”

“I did not want to say anything myself.”

“She’s not here, you can say it.”

Dimitri let out a defeated sigh, but just as he opened his mouth to respond, another cheery voice cut through the night.

“Hey, Professor’s awake! Linhardt—” Byleth could hear jostling of fabric and armor coming from his right, followed by a lethargic groan. The voice continued, “Linhardt, wake up and say hi!”

Byleth shifted on Dedue’s horse and turned his head, and he was met with a brilliant grin courtesy of Caspar. He was keeping pace with the horse admirably, considering he had the added weight of a semi-conscious Linhardt on him, whom he was carrying piggy-back style. Byleth offered a tiny wave back at them and was rewarded with a bigger grin and some sort of weak wrist flop from Linhardt.

Byleth had a flurry of questions he was interested in launching on to the first member of the Black Eagles he could find, but first, “Uh, Good evening, Caspar. Do you need me and Linhardt to switch places?” Byleth leaned away from Dedue and put a hand to his chest as if that illustrated his glowing health, “I’m not injured, I can walk.”

“Oh, neither is Linhardt,” Caspar laughed. “He just wanted to nap, and I was worried he’d get left behind.”

“I’m starting to see why you married him once, you’re quite similar,” Byleth heard Dimitri mutter under his breath. He resisted the urge to kick him for the comment, and kept his attention focused on Caspar, who was already launching into his own side of the conversation.

“I heard you guys talkin’ about us and wanted to hear what’s up! If we’re all on the same side now, figured you could use some input from your new pals.” Caspar’s grin had yet to fall from his face.

“I don’t think that’s exactly what Edelgard meant,” Linhardt muttered, but didn’t seem inclined to push the matter further. He finally pried his eyes open, peeking up at Byleth through his own pretty green lashes. “Hello, Professor. Goodnight,” And they were closed again.

“Right, we,” Byleth spoke over Caspar’s frustrated jostling, glancing back at Dimitri,”we were just trying to figure out why she would leave you all with us, rather than take you back to Enbarr with her.” We were not calling your team name stupid, of course. 

“Oh! Well she told us, at least,” Caspar explained. “She thinks one of our allies knows we might’ve betrayed them, and she’s worried if we all went back to Enbarr they’d attack us.”

“It’s easier for just her and Hubert to get out unscathed than dealing with all of us,” Linhardt mumbled, a bit muffled with his face squished against his arms. Caspar nodded in agreement. 

“That puts her without much of a defensive force if she does get attacked,” Dimitri said, peering around from behind the massive steed between them. “That is terribly dangerous for her. Why would she not have just stayed with us?”

“Those allies can track her more easily, she said,” Caspar responded. “‘Guess she was worried she’d turn us all into a great big target.”

Dimitri paused in thought, glancing away and down the path ahead of them. When he spoke again, it was quieter. “That is quite selfless of her. I’m a bit surprised.”

“That’s your fault, you know,” Linhardt said, one eye cracking open and glancing at Dimitri. “Your little show of dominance back there spooked everyone. It wasn’t a terrible reminder about how much we can trust Edelgard’s word, even for us,” Meaning the Black Eagles, if his half-assed gesture to Caspar was anything to go by. “You’ve gotta figure most of us aren’t fighting for her because we want to.”

Dimitri hadn’t figured that, by the look of his raised eyebrows. “But you would want to fight on behalf of your home, wouldn’t you?”

Caspar chewed his bottom lip, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Sure we do! Some of us, at least, but,” he hesitated, using the moment to shift his grip on Linhardt instead. “All of us except Dorothea are nobles. If we didn’t fight, we’d risk making our families enemies of the state, y’know? My dad’s the head of the military, how’d that look if his son just ran off? So we’re fighting for our literal homes, not so much Adrestria, I guess.”

“And Dorothea has her theatre company to worry about, and Petra’s probably a political prisoner, so if she said no she’d be damming Brigid to war later,” Linhardt added. 

“She’s what?!” Dimitri sputtered. Byleth winced, that was a detail he hadn’t thought would need to come up, so he hadn’t bothered mentioning it. He regretted that now, the sight of Dimitri’s surprise twisting into poorly suppressed rage. “How dare Edelgard—”

Linhardt raised a hand to stop the incoming diatribe. “It was a hold-over from her dad’s rule, I’d figure. I can’t guarantee one way or another, this is all just my own guess. And it’s all not exactly an excuse, she should’ve just outright freed Petra and let her go home if that’s really the case, but I can imagine it’d slipped her mind by the time Petra already agreed to fight for her. She’s tunnel visioned like that.” Linhardt yawned, moving his arms and propping his chin on Caspar’s shoulder plate. “Don’t get us wrong, Edelgard gave us the option back in the beginning. I just don’t think she realized it wasn’t really a choice for us.”

Caspar laughed, but it was breathy and empty. “Kinda felt less like a ‘you can go!’ and more like we had a five second head start to outrun an execution, when ya thought about it. ‘Course, none of us really know what would’ve happened. No one wanted to risk it.”

“I did,” Linhardt said.

Caspar huffed. “And I made you stay anyways. It all worked out in the end! You got to see the Professor again!” Caspar shot Byleth that wide grin from earlier, and Byleth responded with a shaky smile. He was too busy considering everything that was just said that he almost missed what Caspar followed with. “Linhardt’s been so excited to see you again. He had a massive crush on you back in the academy, can you believe that?”

Byleth jolted at the sound of Dimitri’s unamused bark of a laugh, and flushed red right afterwards. He wasn’t sure whether to kick Dimitri before he said something damning or embarrassingly jealous, or Caspar for bringing up the matter. Dedue was graciously silent. But before Byleth could settle on a proper reaction, Linhardt huffed out a sleepy response. “Doesn’t matter anyways, he’s got a boyfriend.” His head lolled to the side, eyeing Dimitri. “And I don’t wanna be speared in the literal sense.”

Dimitri’s face managed to shoot from poorly hidden jealousy to wide-eyed shock in record moments, all while Byleth wheezed out something between a sigh and a distressed wine. Dedue was not as silent this time, Byleth heard the soft snort that escaped from him. He sucked in another breath and reminded himself for the umpteenth time that this was not technically a secret, but he still couldn’t will the heat away from his face. He figured Dimitri was much the same. 

“Why would Edelgard tell you that,” Byleth asked, trying to figure out why that would have been an important thing to update them on compared to everything else that had happened. 

“She didn’t need to?” Linhardt blinked, incredulous. “You two have been painfully obvious since we got here. He looks at you like a puppy. Sorry.” Linhardt shrugged in Dimitri’s direction. Dimitri didn’t see it, given he’d suddenly found the dirt under them more deserving of his attention. Byleth could just barely hear him mutter something along the lines of why everyone insisted on comparing him to animals.

“Right, well, uh,” Byleth struggled, forcing himself to maintain eye-contact and feign impartiality, “Even so it’s, uh. Good to speak to you again, Linhardt. And you too, Caspar. Thanks for telling us what you know.”

Caspar gave a thumbs-up while Linhardt huffed, “You two are embarrassing.”

“I can force you to walk the rest of the rest of the way, Linhardt,” Byleth warned.

Linhardt rolled his eyes before nuzzling up against Caspar as comfortably as he could despite the armor. “Yes, Professor.”

\---

Well, it wasn’t Garreg Mach, that was for certain. But the fortress would do, and it looked less dilapidated than the monastery, despite also having been abandoned for some time. The moss and vines clinging to the weathered bricks gave it a little bit of character, Byleth thought. 

The march into the Leicester Alliance had taken them all until the break of dawn, coming to a close when he could see the early morning light glinting off a gold cape in the distance. Claude waved from where he was leaning against the entrance gate, another figure standing stiffly behind them. An unenthusiastic Judith, Byleth figured. 

Byleth had long since dismounted Dedue’s horse, having thanked him for the ride, and made his way to the front of the pack alongside Dimitri. It meant the two of them were able to hurry ahead of the group and meet with their fellow commander, Dimitri lagging behind Byleth slightly. The poor man had spent almost the entire march on his feet, refusing when Byleth had offered to retrieve a horse from somewhere along the line. It was a wonder his legs didn’t give out the moment the two of them came to rest.

Claude grinned out at the two of them, a bright smile obscuring the exhaustion in his eyes. “So how was the trip? Oh, and a formal welcome to the Leicester Alliance, Your Almost-Majesty.” He gave an overdramatic bow in Dimitri’s direction, rewarded with a hard cuff on the head from Judith behind him. 

“Already off to a bad start, boy,” Judithed chastised, looking back up at her visitors. “Hello, Prince Dimitri. And you must be the Professor I’ve heard so much about.” Judith’s polite smile was as exhausted as Claude’s. “I wish you’d given us a little more notice, I could have had this old place a little more prepared for you.”

Byleth responded with an apologetic nod. “I wish we could have. We’re very grateful for your assistance, we would have been lost otherwise.” Byleth wished he could’ve explained why they couldn’t just flee to Faerghus instead, he had to trust Claude had done a well enough job in his stead. Cornelia potentially being one of Those Who Slither In The Dark was an obvious danger, even if she could no longer act on behalf of the Empire. Not to mention Byleth would like to keep Dimitri’s existence a relative secret until after that threat was taken care of, so as not to throw Faerghus into greater political turmoil than it already was. Putting anyone in that country at the moment was a disaster waiting to happen. 

“I understand. And I’m sorry about what happened to the monastery,” Judith added, after a pause. 

It was all Byleth could do to shrug. “Me too.”

The moment of tense silence was broken when Claude clapped his hands and laughed, “Well, what matters is we’re gonna have a roof over our heads, right? It’s not even gonna be as cramped as I thought it’d be. I guess I misjudged how big the Alliance army could get.”

“Or how few soldiers we actually have,” Dimitri muttered, glancing back at their approaching convoy. 

“I’m trying to be optimistic here, buddy,” Claude said. “It’s kind of ironic, y’know? This old fort was used back when the Alliance and Faerghus would get into scuffles, and now we’re marching a member of the royal family in there. My ancestors would be appalled.”

“When did you ever give a damn about your ancestors,” Judith grumbled, “You’ve always done your own thing.”

“I care when it matters, and right now it doesn’t because they were a bunch of dusty old bureaucrats,” he announced, hands firmly on his hips. “Now Seteth is still inside getting shit organized, you two help me get everything and everyone to the right place, alright? We just managed to get the stables cleared before you all arrived, so I need someone to direct everyone with mounts in that direction.”

Byleth and Claude turned in light surprise at the sound of Dimitri’s small chuckle, a hand covering his mouth. “So you are in charge now, Claude?”

Claude raised an eyebrow, “Your Princeliness is on my turf now, aren’tcha? Is that going to be a problem?” From the amused glint in his eyes, Claude didn’t care one way or another. 

Dimitri seemed to share the sentiment, shaking his head. “Of course not. It’s a pleasant change of pace to follow someone else’s lead.”

“Oh, and here I thought Byleth was always ordering you around where we couldn’t see,” Claude snickered, only to be doubled over by another harsh smack to the head.

Byleth rolled his eyes and pushed ahead onto the fortress grounds, finding a bit of comfort and pride in any reaction other than furious blushing. He couldn’t quite tell if Dimitri was the same, or just oblivious to more subtle jabs. All he could hear was his remarks to Judith that she and Ingrid might really have something to bond over. 

\---

Claude had been right, the fort was roomier than anticipated. Whether it truly was bigger than they’d all thought as Claude said, or they just had that few men, Byleth didn’t want to think about. Either way at least it meant everyone had a decent place to sleep, he and Dimitri especially. 

He set down his quill and pushed his chair back, the legs squeaking softly against the aging floorboards. The room wasn’t spacious per say, but it was bigger than his room at the monastery and he appreciated the size of the desk tucked neatly in the corner. It would have actually managed to fit all of Byleth’s research and notes, had any of them managed to make it out of the monastery. Now all the space felt like a waste for the single quill that had been kindly offered to him by Ignatz, who never seemed to be without one. He would have to remember to return it later.

Byleth rolled up the parchment, only to realize he had nothing to tie it with. He couldn’t even sacrifice one of the ribbons that had made a home in his hair, given they weren’t there. He hadn’t had time to let Dimitri fix the braids he was so fond of doing between all their meetings. As outwardly meaningless as the loss was, it pulled at Byleth’s heart as he reached up to run his fingers through the knotted mess framing his face. So little had made it out of the monastery. He had decades worth of memories to tie to that building, and even with all the pain that so many of those memories held, it had been a home. His only real, permanent home. And it had been a home he’d worked hard to make better, in his first life when he’d taken the role of archbishop. 

A quiet part of him had thought he’d do the same thing, after all of this. He still had his chance to reshape the church, and maybe he’d even have Edelgard there to give her input, make it into an organization she’d be happy to let flourish in Adrestria. He would’ve reached out to Claude, get his advice on how the church could coexist with the religious organizations beyond their borders, and how they could aid the many belief systems that were still scattered amongst Fódlan. 

And he would have demanded Dimitri make far more personal visits to the monastery, or he would make his way to Fhirdiad himself. Separation of church and state be damned. Byleth wasn’t going to settle for friendly letters anymore.

There was no monastery for Dimitri to visit, now. Byleth knew that didn’t mean the Church of Seiros was gone. Far from it, and so long as Seteth and Flayn walked the earth he knew they would find a way to keep it alive if that was what Fódlan wished. Byleth could still make those changes. But the thought couldn’t quite sweep away the melancholy sitting in the back of his mind. The feeling of having no home to return to after his work was done was familiar enough, but it wasn’t a comfort. 

He sighed, unrolling the parchment and delicately folding it into quarters instead. Keeping it neat wasn’t so much an issue, Byleth figured. It was a glorified shopping list, not a letter. Something to send off with Judith, who was being more of a saint than he would ever be. He’d spent the first couple hours of their arrival, alongside Dimitri, Claude and Seteth, doing inventory. They were in a bad spot, there was no other way to put it. They were down a couple dozen mounts, ones that hadn’t fled the monastery stables fast enough or weren’t able to be recaptured afterwards. The vast majority of soldiers had escaped with just the clothes on their backs, leaving behind their armor and weapons. It was a miracle Dimitri and Felix had been able to retrieve the divine relics they could, but Byleth knew they were working with fewer than he was used to. Many of his students’ weapons remained locked up in their noble families’ territories, or confiscated by the Empire. And they were down essentials, too. Nothing for marches, no tents or bedrolls. No stored food. 

And they’d lost people, too. 

Not many, but that didn’t really matter. Some of the missing dozen soldiers had been able to meet back up with the group, but it still left nine soldiers unaccounted for. 

They’d spent the last hour holding a vigil in the afternoon sun, led by Seteth. Those who had the ability lit small fires in their hands, making up for the lack of candles. It was something the church would do whenever Knights of Seiros didn’t come back from missions, something he and his students had grown used to over their year in the academy. They were never long, unlike most church ceremonies. They were small, quiet, and sad. Byleth hated them.

They were a reminder of how he would always fail, even if he could keep his students alive. And they were a reminder that even without any promises, he would have never turned back time for a knight he’d never met. Because he didn’t care about that life enough. And the guilt of that would eat away at him long after everyone’s heads raised and the gathering broke to continue their business. It was a horribly selfish way to look at such a ceremony, he knew. He felt guilty for that too. 

Byleth rubbed his face in a vain attempt to focus on the present, and forced himself up to his sore feet, eyeing the nearby bed. It looked soft, decent bedding being one of the few things that had been left in the fort’s storage. It was bigger than his bed at the monastery, too. Given he would be sharing the room with Dimitri, he figured the upgrade would be nice. As much as he enjoyed sleeping with another person, trying to fit the both of them on a bed made for one only resulted in Byleth getting crushed up against the wall by the time he woke, or dangling halfway off the edge. 

He’d been surprised at the quality of the room, and Dimitri had been outright distressed. There were a handful of rooms intended for visiting nobles to use, which Claude had fairly predictably assigned to their generals and respective retainers. Dimitri and Byleth to one room, Claude and Dedue to a neighboring one, Seteth and an incredibly annoyed Hilda to the last. Given how quickly Hilda had run off at the news, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had tried to talk Flayn into convincing her “older brother” to switch. Claude had shrugged, and happily lied that it had been a random draw. 

It had taken Dimitri some convincing to settle for the special treatment, arguing that the injured should’ve been given the more comfortable space. It wasn’t until Claude explained that these rooms were purposely situated to be the safest in case of an invasion, and that their army really couldn’t afford to have the very strong, very scary prince of Faerghus stabbed to death in his sleep, that he relented. To make up for it, he’d signed himself to take a hunting shift that evening, their force’s paltry attempt at refilling their food storage by sending out pairs of hunters every fifteen minutes.

Byleth had, naturally, signed up along with him, and they were due to leave soon. Which meant no bed. Tragic. Picking up his sword that rested up against the desk and clipping it to his hip, he set off towards the fort’s medical area after leaving his folded-up list with a messenger. It was uncertain how much Judith and her people would be able to scrounge up without attracting unwanted attention, but anything would be helpful. He just had to have faith. Nothing he was ever particularly good at having, ironic as it was.

Unfamiliar building aside, the fort was relatively easy to navigate. Their infirmary replacement was tucked away in the back, just big enough to house the wounded Claude had brought with his own little caravan. The shelves were barren from when Byleth had checked in previously, but with healers and the limited supplies Judith had been able to procure before everyone else had arrived, the tenants were kept stable. Dimitri had still insisted on keeping close by, so Byleth figured the infirmary was the best place to meet up with him. He gave a couple raps at the door to announce his arrival, before slipping in. 

Ashe gave a happy wave from where he was bundled up in a bed situated right next to Felix, who was conscious once more and engrossed in what appeared to be a card game with Dimitri, who’s unwieldy legs were dangling off the edge of the bed. Quite a few of the infirmary residents looked to be audience members, Leonie and Lysithea craning their necks from their beds on the opposite side of the room, and Petra peering out from where she was still swaddled in Dimitri’s cloak. The rest of the room was quietly dozing, including Flayn and Marianne hanging off the stools they’d pulled up to Dorothea’s cot. She didn’t seem to be bothered by the two healers draping themselves across her legs, sleeping comfortably herself. The vast mix of his students all in one room was jarring, and it took Felix noticing his arrival to snap Byleth out of it. 

“Oh. You’re here,” Felix announced, slapping down a card into a messy discard pile. A bit of the bandage wrapped around his head was falling loose.

Dimitri’s head flicked around and he gave an apologetic smile, tilting his head in Felix’s direction. He had a fan of cards gripped delicately in gloved hands, the sleeves of a black turtleneck rolled up to his elbows. “Byleth! I’m sorry, I should have met you earlier. Everyone was bored in here, and I may have gotten roped into a game.”

“They’re both terrible, it’s incredibly entertaining,” Lysithea said, leaning forward with her head propped up in her hands. “I don’t know if Felix’s brain trauma is the cause, or if he was just born that stupid.”

“Shut it, shortstack,” Felix hissed. Leonie had to lean over and snatch hold of Lysithea’s sleeve to keep her from launching herself out of bed.

“Now now,” Ashe laughed softly, bruised hands held up in defence, “We don’t want to wake the others up.” Lysithea settled back into bed with a grumble, while Dimitri neatly stacked his cards and set them down on the bed.

“I think you were going to win anyways, Felix,” he smiled. “Thank you for the game.”

“Damn right I was, boar. Now get lost.” He flicked his wrist in Byleth’s general direction, a ghost of a smile passing over his face. 

“Oh,” Petra peeped from her makeshift blue nest, trying to disentangle herself from the swathe of fabric and fur. “If you are leaving, you will be wanting your cape back?”

“Only if you don’t need it anymore,” Dimitri assured, hesitating to take his cloak from Petra’s outstretched arms. “I can handle this weather fine without it, please do not worry about me.”

Petra only shook her head, thrusting the cloak out more. “I have comfort here, now that I am not flying. I thank you for your kindness, Prince Dimitri.” She smiled, a genuinely warm light in her eyes. Byleth knew she was treated well by her friends in the Black Eagles, but anyone in her position still deserved far more kindness than what she was given. Dimitri gave a small bow back to her, retrieving his cloak and slinging it over his shoulders. 

He fumbled with the clips as he backed towards the door, struggling with no proper armor to clasp it to and having to make do with clipping it to itself. He settled with looking just a little small and silly under the awkward mound of fur. “Thank you all for allowing me to join you,” he said, softly enough that it wouldn’t disturb those sleeping. His little smile had yet to leave, and there was something heart wrenchingly soft about the way his hand had curled up against his chest as he spoke. The rest smiled and lazily waved back at him as Byleth ushered them both out the door, Dimitri snatching up Areadbhar from where it had been propped up against the doorframe beforehand.

“Having fun?” Byleth asked, as they made their way through the fort and out the entrance, the approaching dusk threatening to make their hunting trip short lived. Hopefully they’d be able to find something that would at least make dinner for themselves. 

“I was,” Dimitri smiled, shifting his cloak so it would lay evenly on his shoulders. “I had not intended to stay for so long, but they insisted. And it was just so nice to speak with others about something as menial as a card game. And,” he paused, scratching at his cheek with a free hand. “They seemed happy for my company, odd as that may seem.”

“It’s almost like you’re an enjoyable person to be around,” Byleth chuckled, playfully bumping his shoulder into him. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I don’t just spend time with you because I’m crazy.”

“Oh Byleth, I fear you are completely insane, but for reasons aside from that. In this case, you are unrelentingly patient,” Dimitri said, a joking tone flitting into his voice. “I should be deeply thankful for that. I would not be speaking with people as I am had it not been for you.” He glanced down at Byleth, soft eyes catching the receding light of the sunset peering through the trees. They began to pass from stone to gravel, slipping into the forest. “I know you said you would never be able to fix me. But there are times it feels as if you did.”

Byleth quickly shook his head. “Fixed is a bad way to word it anyways. You helped yourself.”

“And you helped me when I couldn’t quite manage that. Why try to say otherwise?”

“I don’t know,” Byleth muttered. It was an odd feeling, being able to admit that so freely. Not feeling the pressure to put on a composed face around him. Dimitri knew at this point he didn’t have all the answers, even if sometimes he pretended he did. He huffed out a laugh that sounded too bitter. “Maybe I don’t want to develop a god complex.”

“I wouldn’t be afraid of that,” Dimitri said, his gentle smile turning wry. “Unless the symptom of a god complex is narcolepsy.”

“I’m just tired!” Byleth exclaimed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m trying to stop a war. That doesn’t leave a whole lot of free time for naps. But how about this, neither of us are allowed to randomly fall asleep out here, okay?”

“That seems like an obvious rule.”

“And yet, we probably wouldn’t be able to manage it.” 

Dimitri laughed, and the ease of it got a soft chuckle out of Byleth. He had a nice laugh, Byleth thought. Low and warm, it was a crime it had taken so long for it to come from him so easily. And his smiles, so rare to come by a year before and now they seemed fixed to his face whenever possible. He didn’t have the skill some of his friends did, the ability to plaster on a convincing fake smile. Instead, they were big and genuine, the kind that would light up his entire face and make your whole chest feel warm and fuzzy as a result. Or maybe that was just Byleth, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t imagine why one wouldn’t have that reaction. His smiles were perfect, matched with a bright blue eye that would sparkle like a star. He was perfect, and anyone who couldn’t see that was a damn fool. The fact that Byleth had stumbled his way into his affection was a miracle. 

“Byleth? Byleth, you keep almost running into trees, Byleth—”

And he was such a kind person, so sweet and conscientious. Kind enough to pull him out of the way of oncoming plants.

“You really must be tired,” Dimitri said, turning and gently tugging them both a little off the path. He pressed a hand to Byleth’s cheek, warm even through the leather of his glove. “Are you feeling well? You could go back if you need to.” His brow scrunched up, eye flicking about Byleth’s face as if he could figure out his secret ailment. 

“I, uhm,” Byleth struggled. Warm, close, he was terribly distracting. “I’ll be alright, my mind just keeps wandering. I have a lot to think about.” Dimitri frowned at his half-hearted excuse, but conceded after a moment, dropping his hand from his face and clasping Byleth’s hand with it instead. 

“Just keep close to me, then. And if you really are feeling ill, tell me.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Byleth chuckled. 

The further they dove into the forest the more their idle chatter began to sift away into silence, focusing more on the subtle sounds around them where the dim light failed. Byleth allowed Dimitri to guide him about, his partner right back at home navigating unfamiliar forests by sense alone. As divorced as they were from their first few months together, in moments like this it felt as if little had changed. Dimitri’s hand clasped tightly around his was the only thing tethering him to the current moment, a closeness that hadn’t been there in the beginning. Or, it had been there, but had to beat against a dozen stone walls between the two to be seen. Even without the walls, however, Byleth couldn’t help but remember and admire some of the things that had always caught his eye, even through the grime and the blood and the rude demeanor. 

Which was Byleth’s way of mentally reconciling with the fact he was more focused on thirsting over his boyfriend than on actual hunting. Which was fine. Dimitri was the one who signed up for this, not him, technically. And he was sleep deprived, how was he to keep his thoughts straight? Guilty? He didn’t need to feel guilty. Dimitri should have been the guilty one, being all… attractive. And distracting. And attractive.

It was unfair. He could glide about the messy undergrowth with ease, his long legs kicking up over fallen logs and boulders. Whenever they came across small ditches he would help lift Byleth up with a single arm, stopping just short of carrying him over any mild obstacle. He had to force himself to keep his eyes forward each time, and not focus on the very visible way the muscles in his chest and arms would tense under his shirt and wait a damn minute—

Byleth’s eyes widened and he nearly stumbled over a root jutting out in front of him, his clumsy footsteps beating against the dirt. “You’re not wearing your armor.”

Dimitri paused mid-stride, glancing back. Areadbhar cast a soft glow over his face from where it was propped against his shoulder, the light flickering orange specks in his eye when he turned. “Oh, I suppose not. It was for the others’ sake, I assure you.” He chuckled, pressing a hand to his chest, “It felt a bit, ah, unhygienic to stay in it after so many days. One of Judith’s men kindly loaned me a shirt, but I suppose it’s a touch small on me. And I should have abandoned the cloak, it really does not work like this.” He tugged the clasps of his cloak forward, where the weight of the ensemble pulled it back and threatened to strangle him. “I was thinking of helping with laundry when we return, if they’ll allow me.”

“That’s sweet but Dimitri you’re not wearing armor,” Byleth reiterated, still staring at him.

“I,” he frowned. “Yes, we’ve addressed that.”

“And you’re outside. In,” Byleth gestured broadly, “In the danger. In the unknown.”

“Why are you speaking like Petra?”

“_Dimitri_,” Byleth laughed, throwing his weight onto him and hanging off his arm. “It took me ages to convince you it was okay just to sleep without your armor on, and now you’re out hunting without it. That’s amazing, and actually a little bit reckless.” He gave his side a nudge with his elbow. “I’m just a bit surprised, is all. Maybe even a little bit proud.”

The lightest dust of pink fell over Dimitri’s cheeks as he shuffled on his feet. “It is really nothing of significance. I simply did not want to listen to Felix informing me that I smelled like a boar, too. And I,” he hesitated, as if the implications were just now dawning on him, “I forgot to grab it before we left. It didn’t feel necessary.”

He looked down at where Byleth was coiling his arms around his waist, a snide little smirk pulling at his lips. “You feel safe with me.”

“I’ve felt safe with you for months,” Dimitri muttered. “Years, probably. I just did not want to admit it for a period of time.” Byleth’s smile softened, tilting his head into Dimitri’s hand as it absently played with the waves of hair curling at his jaw. “Is that not obvious? I become an anxious mess when I do not have the dagger you gave me, let alone not getting to be around you yourself. Your presence is, ah,” his brow furrowed as he searched for the right word, “comforting? Grounding? I just feel more capable of being a proper human being around you.”

“Like you aren’t one already?” Byleth pursed his lips. “Dimitri—”

He quickly pressed a finger against his lips to halt Byleth’s incoming lecture, an apologetic smile on his face. “I know what you’re going to say, but I fear at this rate we are going to be caught in an endless cycle of assuring each other of our own humanity. But I’m coming to accept it might be a struggle I will always have, just like my insomnia and,” he hesitated. “My hallucinations. They all might never go away. I’ll always have that paranoia. So please, let me find comfort in you.” He pulled his hand away, resting it on Byleth’s shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. “Please tell me if you fear I am becoming too dependent again. But if you would, let me love you for the kindness, and the patience, and care you’ve shown me.”

Byleth was silent for a moment, not quite able to meet the genuine warmth in Dimitri’s eye. He focused on the weight of his hands, the slight heat radiating off of him. The tender lit of his voice that consistently ate away at the guilt that kept a permanent residence in his chest. God it wasn’t fair. 

Byleth dropped his forehead against Dimitri’s chest, letting out a defeated sigh. “You’re too powerful.”

He could feel the little shake from Dimitri’s chuckle, and used it as an excuse to bury his face further. “And what do you mean by that?”

“You’re too damn nice, you bastard,” Byleth groaned. “I can’t compete with this.”

“Even after how I just went on about how kind and loving and wonderful you are?”

“That is exactly the problem.” Byleth’s face popped up with a pout. 

Dimitri shook his head, still struggling to stifle his laughter. “I just like to, oh what did Sylvain once call it? Wax poetic?” He reached up and ruffled Byleth’s hair, his other hand sliding a ways down Byleth’s back to rest at his hip and god _dammit_ Dimitri needed to stop doing that. It was cheating! He was a dirty cheater. “Flowery words cannot compete with your actions, I’m afraid.”

“Actions,” Byleth repeated, pulling back and snapping his fingers. “I was always a man of action. You’ve tricked me into speaking more, I just need to get back to my roots.” He poked Dimitri’s chest, his other hand coming up to his chin in deep thought. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Oh?” Dimitri smiled, leaning in and keeping his hands firmly on Byleth’s hips. They were close enough that Byleth could feel the ends of Dimitri’s hair tickling at his cheeks. “What has the brilliant tactician thought up?” His voice had dropped to a whisper, pulling Byleth close enough that he had to crane his neck up to look at him. He popped up on his tiptoes to get closer, his breath puffing against Dimitri’s skin. 

“I’ll go kill a bear, and drop its still wet skin on you and call that a cloak,” he grinned, eyes sparkling. “Someone I know thought that was _really_ romantic— hey!” 

Byleth cackled as Dimitri spun on his heel, snatching up his hand to continue dragging him through the forest. He’d turned his face away, but Byleth could see the bright red tip of his ear poking out through his hair.

“You are terrible, actually,” Dimitri said. Byleth only laughed harder, and Dimitri’s shoulders dropped in reluctant acceptance. “You are very lucky I think you have a cute laugh. 

“What, not ‘mesmerizing?’”

“Thin ice, Eisner.” 

Byleth snorted, now content in allowing Dimitri to drag him about. He was a wonderful distraction from everything, and if Byleth’s presence would bring him any joy, he would enjoy the same from Dimitri in turn. The further they trekked from the fort, the more the light faded and struggled to break through the canopy, the more it felt like the world had melted away around them. The threat of Imperial soldiers stumbling upon them had crumbled, and the chance of something else in the shadows finding them in the thick of a nameless Alliance forest was a low possibility. Their fort would be safe for the night, especially with an Empress posing as a distraction from across the nation. Maybe it was irresponsible, Byleth thought, to shed all his anxiety and guilt and fear for the evening. But he was tired. Dimitri was tired, and it showed in his heavy steps and the slump of his shoulders. Maybe they deserved something, after everything they’d been through. 

But despite his attempts to relax, there was one voice echoing at the back of his mind. Nagging at him, the same thing over and over again. Everything up to this point had been meticulously planned, even despite last minute changes and disasters. They were getting close to some kind of end. And that was the one thing Byleth had no plan for. One thing he couldn’t predict, had no precedent in his many memories to base a future off of. 

He had no real idea how much longer he would get to walk at Dimitri’s side, close enough to feel the weight of his hand in his, to hear his soft puffs of laughter when he still tried to seem composed, to see his eye clear and bright and focused on something real. On him. It was a childish thought, a ridiculous thought. There had been much more important things to worry about, to still worry about. But it was still there, a self-indulgent coo in his ears. He wanted more, while they were still together like this. While they still had time. Things they hadn’t let themselves do before. Byleth ducked his head, feeling an embarrassed heat creep into his face that he worked to keep out of his body language. 

He wanted to do more than just fall asleep in each other’s arms, as nice as that always was. He could admit it. He could admit that he wanted more than just quick, chaste kisses and soft nuzzles. Goddess help him, he wanted Dimitri on top of him, he wanted his hands on him, he wanted to taste—

“—Oh, Byleth, look.” Byleth smacked right into Dimitri’s back, too caught up in his own fantasies to notice him stop. Dimitri was pointing out to where the trees around them separated to form a small clearing, a pond resting in the center. The water was clear, rippling under the faint breeze. 

Byleth rubbed his nose, trying to blink away images of a Dimitri that the real one really did not need to know about. He hoped it was dark enough that he couldn’t see how red Byleth’s face was. “Uh, yeah, that’s a nice pond.”

Dimitri’s face scrunched up slightly as he turned back to glance at him. “A pond with fish, most likely. Are you sure you are well? You have been very absentminded all evening.”

“I’m fine!” Byleth exclaimed far too quickly, jolting up straight. “You’re right! That’ll work for dinner, although we’ve been out here so long everyone else has probably already eaten.” He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing his face back into its natural impassivity. “Oh, and we don’t have fishing rods.”

Dimitri’s gaze lingered on him long enough that Byleth had to fight back the urge to squirm, before shrugging and trotting off towards the water’s edge. “That is not a problem. I became very adept at spearfishing in the years before I returned to the monastery.” He glanced at Areadbhar’s unusually bulky spear tip and frowned. “Although, we may need to make due with slightly mangled fish.”

“Doesn’t have to be pretty, I guess.” Byleth wandered over next to him, peering out at the surface. “I can get a fire started so we can eat out here. Can you even see any fish?”

Byleth bent over the edge, focusing so hard on spotting any movement in the water’s depths that he failed to see the movement next to him, or the sound of Areadbhar being set down atop the loose pebbles of the shore. He startled so hard he almost toppled over into the pond when he felt Dimitri’s arms wrap around his torso, his breath sudden and hot against his ear.

“What have you been blushing about all this time,” he asked, turning Byleth around to face him. Byleth’s valiant attempt to stay subtle vanished as quickly as his cheeks darkened. 

“Nothing.”

“You’re a better liar than that,” Dimitri smiled. There was something about the way his eye drooped and his hand slid to press against the small of his back that made the blood pound in Byleth’s ears in a way his heart wouldn’t. “I’ve noticed you keep staring at me, too.”

Byleth swallowed. Dimitri’s dense, he wouldn’t figure anything like this out. Did he want Dimitri to figure it out? Maybe? Probably not. He wouldn’t anyways.

“Let’s see,” Dimitri hummed. “You’ve been absent minded all evening, I keep catching you staring, and you have had a blush on your face for the past ten minutes. I wonder where your mind has been wandering.” 

Dimitri you were supposed to be dense, this was out of character. Yeah you were good at catching on to people’s emotions but you weren’t supposed to catch on to his. Unfair, the whole evening had been completely unfair. Byleth shrunk a little, head ducking and eyes darting to the side, missing the devilish little grin from his partner. It wasn’t until Dimitri pressed a finger under Byleth’s chin and forced his head up that he was able to meet his eye. 

“If you don’t mind, let me try a guess,” he whispered, sliding his hand to cup Byleth’s jaw. “Just give me a sign if I’m right.” 

Byleth expected the kiss, admittedly. What he hadn’t expected was Dimitri lifting him up and holding him in his arms a couple moments in, forcing Byleth to wrap his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck to keep his balance. He didn’t so much need to tangle his fingers in his hair, or pull him back into a second kiss when Dimitri broke the first one to breathe, but he’d asked for a sign and Byleth figured that was obvious enough. He didn’t want to let go any time soon anyways. For once, outside of sleep, he was able to cling to Dimitri without sharp plates digging into his arms. He could feel warmth not obscured by cold metal, he could feel all the minute movements of his body, from the tensing in his shoulders to shift of his arms holding him up under his thighs. And he could hear the soft noises that would escape out of him, little contented sighs and a muffled squeak when Byleth nipped at his lower lip. 

Dimitri’s breath was heavy by the time they pulled away for more than just a moment, Byleth lazily resting his head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. “I take it that I was right,” DImitri said, letting out a breathy laugh. 

“Congrats,” Byleth mumbled. “Did we have to stop?”

He felt himself get jostled, Dimitri moving and shifting the grip he had on him so one hand held onto his hip. The other tried not to obviously end up on his ass, but it did, and Byleth noticed. He just squeezed his legs a little tighter in response, half to remain steady and the half to see if he could get a reaction. “I wouldn’t mind continuing, in all honesty,” Dimitri admitted. “This was unexpectedly nice. I almost feel a little bad for what I’m about to do.”

A split second pause, and then Byleth’s head shot up. “About to do what?”

Dimitri had done plenty of things to make Byleth’s blood run cold over the time they’d spent together, but he didn’t think anything was worse than the shit-eating smirk that met him. That pretty blue eye was perfectly clear and glinting with an unrepentant evil in it. 

“I told you I’d get my revenge, Professor.”

In retrospect, Byleth would have considered Dimitri’s ability to physically throw him into the air incredibly hot, if he hadn’t used that strength to chuck him right into the middle of the fish pond.

\---

“I actually hate you, have I told you that?” 

“About five times now, finish your fish.” Dimitri laughed, tossing another bone into their small campfire. He was careful to avoid tossing anything onto Byleth’s tunic, which was spread out to dry just next to them. 

Byleth plucked the last of the carp from his skewer before shoving the meat in his mouth and chucking the branch at Dimitri’s head, which he easily dodged. “I just want to make sure it really sinks in, you know?”

“Oh, just like how you sank like a rock?”

Byleth wordlessly picked up the Sword of the Creator and pointed it at him. “I will beat you with this. Do you want to be beaten to death with a glowing goddess sword? Do you?”

“I do not,” Dimitri admitted, pushing himself up to his feet and unclipping his cloak. He draped the heavy fabric over Byleth as he made himself more comfortable in a spot next to him. “It is getting a bit cold, isn’t it?”

“It’s getting late,” he answered, bundling himself in the cloak. The fire had helped him dry, but he was still shirtless and there was enough of a chill breeze to be uncomfortable. 

Dimitri sighed, resting his hands in his lap. “Some of the others will likely be getting worried.” 

There was a thin frown on his face, and Byleth watched his expression closely. “You don’t want to go back yet either, right?”

“Not even remotely.” Dimitri chuckled, meeting Byleth’s gaze with a small smile. “Perhaps we should wait until your tunic has dried, at least.”

“Flawless excuse,” Byleth said, shifting over enough that he could lean up against his shoulder. “But you have to keep me from freezing to death until then.”

“You are really shattering the image of the unstoppable demon mercenary I had for my wonderful professor.”

“I’m damp and shirtless you dick. I’m a mercenary, not a rock.” Byleth wiggled himself closer, tossing one end of the cloak around Dimitri. After a long moment, he responded by hesitantly wrapping a stiff arm around Byleth’s bare shoulders.. Byleth frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Dimitri had his face looking anywhere but at him, his pale skin betraying the deep shade of pink stuck to him. For a minute, Byleth was thankful his blushes kept to one part of his face. Dimitri seemed cursed to full faces of red the moment he felt a bit flustered. “No,” he stammered, “No nothing at all.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Can you really only be sultry and flirty with me when you have an ulterior motive for it?”

“This isn’t flirting! I’m not flirting, I,” Dimitri trailed off, scrunching his eyes shut. “I am trying to be polite.”

Byleth considered countering with ‘you threw me into a pond an hour ago’, but instead sat there quietly, contemplating. After what he considered to be a decent moment of awkward silence, he reached over to snatch Dimitri’s free hand, firmly pressing the palm of it against the center of his chest before he could scramble away.

The fact that he froze like a deer in the path of a hunter, then lit up red like the sun itself had embedded itself under his skin, really tested the limits of Byleth’s emotionless expressions and his ability to hold back laughter. 

Dimitri’s voice sputtered out as if it was air escaping from a boiling kettle. “Byleth, why are you torturing me like this?”

Because I still have the taste of pond water in my mouth, Byleth thought. Instead he rolled his eyes, sighing with the exasperation of a teacher sick of spoon feeding everything to a dense student. His dense, grown-ass student. “Why do you keep torturing _me_?” he asked. “You seriously keep trying to hold yourself back without considering I might not want you to?” Another exaggerated sigh, and he slipped out from under his arm to flop onto his back, letting his side of the cloak flare out under him. The fur really made for a decent pillow against the hard dirt. 

“I get it, we still suck at communication. So let me be as earnest and clear as possible.” Byleth spread out his arms and stared up at his startled partner, putting on the softest, most inviting smile he could think of. “I love you, and would like to do whatever it is you’re trying to pretend you don’t want. Trust me.”

“I love you too,” was all he was able to get out in response, his voice cracking halfway through. “But are you really sure I mean,” Dimitri pressed his freed hands to his chest, picking anxiously at the fabric of his gloves and attempting to gather himself despite his very blatant staring. As silly as his reluctance was, Byleth really had to be charmed by Dimitri’s determination to stick to his old princely chivalry. “I would love to, but I really need you to be absolutely certain, I would hate myself if I pushed you into doing something you did not—”

“_—Dimitri_,” Byleth groaned, “I have been pining for you for over a decade, I have seen every wonderful and terrible part about you, and I’ve put myself in this time traveling hell because I can’t imagine living in a world without you! I know by now that I want you to fuck me!” 

Byleth snapped his jaw shut after that, flushing down to his shoulders. It was the truth, all of that was. He knew that, but he hadn’t exactly meant to say it that way. And especially not to someone as shy as Dimitri could be. He sighed, sitting up and pushing hair out of his face. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, but—?!”

The rest of his admission was lost to a muffled squeak, pulled up off his arms and held in place by Dimitri’s tight grip on his shoulders. The kiss wasn’t soft like usual, and felt more like Dimitri really did intend to pick up where they had left off earlier. At some point Byleth felt the velvet of his cloak on his back again, and when Dimitri pulled away he was towering over him, straddling his waist while one arm propped him up. That man leaping from soft to something else entirely was going to give Byleth whiplash one day. He didn’t think he’d complain. 

It had gotten dark, but the glow of the campfire was enough to light up Dimitri’s face between the curtain of blonde falling beside it. The prominent blush was still there, and still cute, but it clashed with the dark look that had passed over his face, his eye lidded and focused on Byleth. He fought back another urge to squirm under his gaze, only to fight it harder when Dimitri pulled his hand up to his mouth and tugged off his glove with his teeth. He had a little smirk by the time he tossed it aside, and Byleth was suddenly aware his jaw had dropped open.

“You did that on purpose,” Byleth muttered as Dimitri pulled off the other and leaned back over him, calloused hands now pressing to his neck and sides. 

“Did it look like an accident?” he asked as he bent lower, and Byleth closed his eyes for another kiss only to feel a puff of hot breath against his neck. Dimitri let soft kisses trail down his neck to his shoulder, a beat of hesitancy between each one, like he was waiting for a bad reaction. Instead, Byleth wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him down closer. Partially because he wanted to feel the weight of the man on top of him and also because he genuinely was a little bit cold. All his body heat ran further to his face with every slide of Dimitri’s hand against his chest. Byleth tried to distract himself by tracing the curves of his shoulders and back through the thin fabric of his shirt, listening to the contented sighs even a little bit of touch could pull from him. 

Dimitri moved down to his collarbone, the ends of his hair tickling his neck from where they fell against him. His voice was muffled as he spoke between kisses. “You are terribly beautiful, my beloved. You always have been,” he said, glancing up at Byleth through long eyelashes. Byleth could say the same, vainly attempting to tug Dimitri’s shirt up enough to slip his hands under the fabric. “I would almost feel guilty for ruining that with marks.”

Byleth's response only came out as a startled gasp when he suddenly bit down on the skin just above his collarbone, just for a moment, just hard enough to leave a light red mark when he pulled away again. Despite his posturing, there was a nervousness in his face when he looked back at Byleth, which he had no interest in entertaining. It was easy for him to reach up and cup Dimitri’s face in his hand, pulling him back down into a long, messy kiss. 

He wasn’t sure how long they’d stayed like that. Long enough for Byleth to learn that Dimitri was fond of biting, and because of it he’d managed to amass an impressive array of red marks on his neck and shoulders from each time a kiss had devolved into nipping and sucking. It was also long enough for Dimitri to find out Byleth was predictably quiet save for a handful of muted gasps, something he’d seemingly taken as a personal challenge to overcome. 

They’d also stayed long enough that the guilt of hiding out in the forest began to eat through the mindless joy Byleth felt, even after finally managing to get his hands up under Dimitri’s shirt to play with his chest. Enough that he spoke up as Dimitri reluctantly pulled away from his lips to breathe. “I know I offered more, but it’s late,” he admitted before Dimitri could lean back in. “We should go back before anyone sends a search party.”

Dimitri immediately frowned at the suggestion, hastily pushing strands of frazzled hair out of his face. “Let them.”

“_Dimitri_,” Byleth gasped, light and breathy and only half feigning shock. He sat up and tugged the end of Dimitri’s shirt back down to his look of utter disappointment. “What happened to wanting to be polite?”

“You,” he answered, pressing his hands against Byleth’s chest fully intent to push them back over again. 

Fair enough, good answer. “We have a private room, you know. Thick walls, probably thicker than a bunch of dorm rooms.” Byleth smiled impishly up at him. “A bed big enough to fit the both of us.”

There was a long pause, but that was enough to get a bit of rational light back into Dimitri’s eye, and he slowly pulled away his hands. He nodded, more to himself than anyone else, and suddenly Byleth and the cape under him were getting scooped up into Dimitri’s arms. He stomped out the dying embers of their campfire, and managed to grab Areadbhar and Byleth’s now-dry tunic all without setting Byleth himself down. 

And dammit he was suddenly regretting saying anything. Patience, he just needed patience. Maybe they would be able to slip into the fort without anyone noticing they’d gotten back so late. 

“Thanks for keeping me warm,” Byleth sighed, and nuzzled up against Dimitri’s neck as they headed back. 

\---

“Where the hell have you two been?!”

Alright, someone noticed. Claude noticed, more specifically, which was not ideal. Byleth subtly tugged the collar of his tunic up, hoping it and his hair was enough to obscure anything suspicious. Dimitri, who had let him down a bit before the fort came back into view so he could redress, only shuffled on his feet sheepishly behind him. It was back to soft Dimitri, he supposed.

“We got lost,” Byleth lied with an impressively stoic face.

“Then remind me to never let you two out around here unsupervised next time,” Claude huffed, pushing himself up from where he’d been leaning on the stone entranceway. “I’ve been scrambling to find you for a while now, Teach.”

“Me?” Byleth frowned, pushing down his immediate spike of regret. “What would you need me for?” Which was an impressively dumb question given he was effectively the man in charge.

“Well, it’s not exactly work related but,” Claude said, “Just come with me. You might as well come along too, Your Highness.” And with that, Claude spun on his heel and began to walk off, forcing Byleth to jog after him.

“He didn’t use a nickname, he’s mad,” Dimitri whispered, wringing his hands together as he hurried to catch up. 

“I’d doubt that,” Byleth muttered back, but he wasn’t completely convinced of that himself. There had been an unusual stiffness in Claude’s face, not even a faux-smile to hide the thin layer of anxiety. It was the kind of apathetic expression Byleth himself found more comfort in, a mask useful in covering a barrage of racing thoughts and fears. But he wouldn’t have been that upset just because he and Dimitri had been out a bit too late, would he? Claude was a lot of things, but a nervous nanny was assuredly not one of them. 

Byleth shook his head and picked up his pace, following Claude’s back through the fort until they came to rest in front of an otherwise nondescript door. It led to some kind of common space, if he remembered correctly. Claude gave a couple hard raps at the door before opening it, calling to whoever must have been gathered inside. “Guess who I finally found.”

A couple relieved gasps floated out of the door before Byleth even walked in, Dimitri right at his back, likely attempting to hide behind him in obvious shame. Someday Dimitri would learn how not to wear his rapidly changing heart on his sleeve, today was not that day. As Claude stepped to the side and revealed the rest of the room, Byleth struggled to figure out why such a gathering had formed. Mercedes was the first to wave and offer a good evening, legs folded under her on the faded couch she sat on. A bundle of cloth tied off with a ribbon rested on her lap. Ignatz sat next to her, with Hilda lounging half her body on top of him while her legs were dangling off the couch’s armrest. Annette was sitting cross legged on the floor right in front of Mercedes, content to lean up against the cushions and have her hair played with, considering the half-finished braid sitting behind her.

“Sorry to have kept you all waiting,” Byleth said, shuffling awkwardly over to an open chair when Claude gestured to it. Dimitri settled for leaning up against the back of it. The room was surprisingly cozy despite the tense atmosphere. A couple shelves of old books lined one wall, and writing desks lined the opposite. It reminded him of the monastery library, comforting and familiar, and he was damn sure Claude had considered that when he’d picked a place to meet. This gathering was uncomfortably suspicious. “We got a bit caught up with hunting and lost track of time. And, uh, location,” he amended.

“Yet they didn’t even bring us back anything,” Claude bemoaned, a bit of his familiar sass creeping back into his voice. It still wasn’t enough to hide the rigid way he propped himself on the back of the couch opposite Byleth, adding to the whole air of worry that weighed down the room. “How in the world did you two manage to survive with those skills.”

“I’d like to know how they managed to cook whatever food they did manage to catch,” Annette giggled, trying to lighten the room with her smile. “The only person who managed to set the kitchens on fire as much as me was Dimitri.”

Byleth heard a very faint, “I just broke things, I never set them on fire,” muttered behind him. 

“Which is why you have no room to talk, Annie,” Mercedes cooed, ruffling the girl’s hair below her. She looked back up at Byleth with those kind eyes, and Byleth could feel his whole body relax a bit more. An angel, that one was. “We are just glad to see you both safe. No need for apologies, Professor.” The mysterious bundle on her lap jostled as she shifted in her spot, and Byleth couldn’t help but focus on it. 

“I guess we should get to the point,” Claude said. “We have something to give you. We didn’t really know a great time to do it. But no time like the present, right?” He shrugged and took the bundle Mercedes handed up to him. Something metal jingled inside, muted by the fabric. “It’ll take a bit of explaining, so just bare with us okay?”

“It was a miracle it was able to come with us,” Mercedes said, hands clasping together. “I was lucky enough to have had it with me when the attacks came.” Byleth recalled the pile of fabric and sewing baubles he’d seen in Mercedes’ arms when she’d been carried out of the monastery by Dedue. Something they’d sewn, then?

Byleth reached out for the package from Claude, which turned out to be heavier than he expected. “Would you like me to open it now?”

Hilda groaned, her hand flopping down and thumping against the bottom of the couch. “No, we just want you to stare at it until the fireplace goes out. Open it!” The others nodded their agreement, and so Byleth got to undoing the neat little bow adorning the package.

He was met with striking blue fabric when he pulled away the outer wrapping, intricate gold embroidery already visible on the edges. The fabric was folded neatly, and as he pulled each layer out from under itself, it revealed more delicate details. Tucked within the middle was a thin, gold and silver headdress of some sort, sitting next to multiple red and white ribbons rolled up in neat coils to avoid getting tangled with each other. Another long gold adornment sat under it, made up of a dozen interlocking plates with complex engravings on each one. He ended up needing to stand to allow all of the fabric to fold out from under itself, eventually flaring out into something crossed between a cloak and a skirt. He sat aside the headdress and the matching pair of sandals that had been hidden beneath the main piece.

Byleth stared at it silently for a long moment. An awkward moment, he was sure, but it was too much to take in for him to care. The garment itself, something not unlike a dress when it came down to it, was an absolute marvel of craftsmanship. Gold cords weaved over the top of the peace, crossing down into the detailed gold plate that hung down the center of the attire. Blue and gold tassels that caught the dim glow of the fireplace shimmered as the fabric swayed in his hands. Each piece of the fabric was carefully sewn with the smallest hints of gold thread. It was utterly gorgeous.

It was Sothis’ attire, almost perfectly recreated.

He finally lowered his hands back down and adjusted the garment so it would drape neatly in his arms, not yet able to fully pull his eyes from it. It wasn’t until he heard Ignatz’ nervous voice pipe up that he was able to pry his gaze away. “Do you like it?” he asked, and Byleth watched the way he shifted in his seat, much to Hilda’s annoyance on top of him.

His throat had run dry, and Byleth struggled to say anything beside, “It’s beautiful.”

“You can mostly thank those four for that,” Claude said, nodding his head to the group. “Ignatz and Annette helped design it, Mercedes did most of the sewing and Hilda did the accessories. I helped where they’d let me.” He smiled, a small little thing, but genuine in both his nervousness and a bit of pride. “We spent a few all-nighters putting it together.”

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say, or ask. He just stood there, gripping the fabric, pushing back a whirlwind of feelings that he couldn’t make sense of one from the other.

Mercedes seemed to sense his difficulty. “It was Claude’s idea. Maybe he could explain?” she asked, looking back at him.

“Ah, right,” Claude said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, unless we really messed up, I guess you can figure out where the inspiration for the design came from. That’s why I’d asked Ignatz to help with the design, since he’d already done a lot of research on what the Goddess might’ve looked like.”

“Annette and Claude helped a lot, though,” Ignatz added in. “They were able to find a lot of books and records hidden in the monastery that I never knew about.” 

Claude laughed nervously. “Just don’t let Seteth know I went snooping in his and Rhea’s rooms.”

There was a long pause, broken by Annette as she leaned forward and looked up at Byleth with those big doe eyes. “Is it, I mean,” she hesitated, stumbling over her words. “Did we get it right?”

Byleth swallowed, and forced a smile to his face. By the way his students’ faces fell slightly, he knew it looked as sad as it felt. “Frighteningly so. You’ve outdone yourself, everyone.”

He watched Claude’s brow furrow, he could see the gears in his head turning to try and get whatever point he had across gently. “We—I, I guess—had a real reason for this. Besides, uh. Making you sad.” Claude had never looked more clearly uncomfortable, and a part of it was unnerving. “When you told us who we would eventually end up fighting and their history and everything, I started thinking up any ways we could get an edge up on them. Even if it was just a psychological trick.” He smiled again, all lopsided and apologetic. “I guess I never quite outgrew that from my school days, huh?” 

“You want me to remind them of her,” Byleth said softly, solemnly. His head felt fuzzy. It was hard to focus on anyone’s words. He wanted to sleep, actually.

Claude’s smile flickered away at Byleth’s response. “Something like that. I’d be a little scared if my opponent looked like the goddess I’d tried to get rid of.”

“Professor,” Mercedes spoke up before the silence could get overwhelming again. “We’d agreed to this before you came to me that evening in the infirmary, and told me about your worries about her, and you, and your place in the world.” Byleth thought maybe he should have been embarrassed by Mercedes admitting that, but he couldn’t find the right feeling in his head. “We wouldn’t have done this had we known, and we’ve been debating over it for days. But in the end, we thought you would like to have the choice.” She smiled, every bit as gentle and comforting as she could be. “You have been given so few choices for this part of your life, it felt unfair to take away another one.”

“Also, uhm,” Annette chipped in, “The fabric and Hilda’s accessories are infused with some magic. Resistance to dark magic, boosts to faith magic, and the fabric we picked is the kind they make mage robes out of. It’s supposed to be woven with a special kind of defensive magic that functions similar to metal armor. We really did mean to make it functional.” She scratched her cheek, looking bashful. “It took me a long while to figure out all the right spells to make that work. But if it means you can think of it as an upgrade and maybe not a reminder of, uhm...” she trailed off, looking to her lap. 

Byleth stood there for a while longer, staring down at the shimmering blue fabric. It looked like it would fit him perfectly, just a bigger version of the beautiful attire that would bundle around Sothis in her throne, or float about her as she followed him around the monastery. He could almost hear her laughing at him. Teasing him, telling him to lose his musty old mercenary tunic. He could see her turn up his nose at her and assure that he still would never be as pretty as she was, though. He could feel the weight of her leaning up against his shoulder, reminding him how much his family loved him. 

He startled, there really was a weight on his shoulders and it made him realize he’d been trembling. Dimitri had moved out from behind the chair and it was his hand on him. 

“I think you would look beautiful, Byleth,” he said, a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. “Blue always did suit you.”

Byleth was grateful, at least, that he’d come to recognize the signs that came just before a deluge of tears. He was able to raise the fabric and bury his face in it before anyone could see, even if it was obvious he wasn’t able to hold back tears. He was truely sick of crying. He had to force himself to forget the world around him. Dimitri’s hand had moved to rub his back in little circles, but even that felt oddly distant. 

He felt completely alone, just him and the ghost of a goddess sitting somewhere in his chest. A massive shadow she left behind, waiting for him to fill it. He wanted to yell at her. He wanted to scream and cry and tell her she was a fool for disappearing, that they should have just left themselves to rot in that void. That no matter how hard he tried to keep his family alive here, even if he succeeded, it only meant he would still be forced to watch them pass one by one as the years would tick by. And they would all take a piece of him with them, each person who knew him as an eccentric professor would be lost to time until he was alone again. 

He wanted to scream at Sothis. He wanted to tell her he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to accept a world without his family. Without the love of his fucking horrific life. He wanted to pretend like it was a future he’d never have to meet, yet everyone around him expected him to step into it. He hated it. He hated it all, and he hated this stupid present that reminded him of all of it. 

And yet something Mercedes’ said wouldn’t stop picking away at him. And he knew that’s where the tears came from. 

They were giving him the choice. 

It was silly. It was just the choice to accept a dress. But it was there, brought forth with a nervous smile. He knew if he handed it back they would take it with an understanding nod, and they would meet him in the morning for breakfast and mindless, everyday chatter like nothing had happened. That there would be no anger or resentment or betrayal, because in the end it didn’t really change anything. They would still say ‘good morning, Professor’, or shout ‘Teach’ from across the courtyard. Dimitri would say, ‘I love you, Byleth’, when they were finally alone and in each other’s arms.

It was just a dress, and they were giving him the choice to accept the gift. He could keep being a mercenary, and they would smile and ask him for sword lessons. Or he could be a goddess, and they would tease him for wearing the headdress crooked and ask if he wanted to go fishing that evening. 

And they would call him Professor, and he would still be Byleth. 

And Dimitri was right, wasn’t he. Blue did suit him. It was his favorite color.

When Byleth finally pulled his face away, he realized he’d been guided back down into his seat. Six faces were looking over him in concern, Dimitri clasping one of his hands and Mercedes cradling the other. He sucked in a breath, trying to gather back his thoughts and clear his throat.

“I—I am sorry, everyone.” He coughed, forcing his breath to even out. He could see faces fall out of the corners of his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

Claude sighed softly, but he did a good job of keeping the disappointment out of his tone. “I can take it back from you now if you want—”

“—Why would you do that?” Byleth asked. Everyone paused, confused. “I still need to try it on, make sure it fits properly.”

He smiled, small and warm, and watched it get reflected back in his students’ faces. Mercedes’ eyes began to glisten, and she threw herself onto Byleth before he could catch the sight of any tears. It was probably for the best, he wasn’t interested in bursting into any more rounds of sobs. Annette followed suit, as did Ignatz and Hilda, until he had four young adults hanging off his torso and Claude awkwardly patting his head. Dimitri remained stuck to his hand. 

It was wonderfully warm. 

“We love you, Professor,” Mercedes whispered, her voice cracking through her tears. A chorus of agreements sounded afterwards.

“I love you all too,” Byleth said, and almost lost himself to tears again. “Every one of you.”

Everyone eventually untangled themselves from him, and Byleth was free to fold his gift back up, treating every bit delicately despite Annette’s assurance that everything was as sturdy as armor. 

“I’m so glad you liked it, Professor,” Hilda chirped once everyone had sat back down. “I mean, if I found out I’d done all that work for no reason I was going to kill Claude.”

“Me?” Claude asked, folding his arms. “Listen if Teach didn’t want it then I would have worn it.”

Ignatz tried to muffle a snort behind his hand, while Mercedes pressed a palm to her chest, sighing in relief. “Thank goodness Professor wanted it.”

Claude pouted. “I would’ve looked hot as hell.”

“Correction, you would have looked ridiculous,” Hilda announced before gesturing at the headdress Byleth was moving around in his fingers. “Oh, so now you admire my handiwork? No one even noticed the engravings I did!”

At that Byleth looked closer at the headdress, and the plates that hung from the dress itself. It was true, there were subtle designs hidden throughout. They were mostly simple designs, flowers and stars to add a sense of texture throughout. Most notably, though, were the designs hidden on the dress plates (he really didn’t know what else to call them, perhaps he should’ve asked Hilda). She had managed to etch a lion, a deer, and an eagle throughout the accessory. 

He smiled, and tucked everything back into its safe spots. “You did an incredible job, Hilda.”

She grinned and flopped back, satisfied with a job well done. “You better be telling people how good I am, I’m thinkin’ of starting up a jewelry business when all of this is over.”

“Ooh!” Annette gasped, leaning in closer. “Really? I’ve been wanting to get a few things recently, actually!”

Byleth chuckled at the immediate change in subject, but Claude seemed to take it as a good opportunity as he bent down to get Byleth’s attention. “You should probably get out of here before they ask you to stay for tea or something. Get some rest, right? Both of you.” He glanced up at Dimitri and grinned, before looking back at Byleth. He paused for a split second, and pointed a finger to his own neck. “By the way, it looks like you have something right there.” He laughed, “It looks kinda like a bite mark, actually—”

The way Dimitri ripped Byleth out of the chair and nearly dragged him out of the room was not subtle in the slightest, but he appreciated the attempt to save face. His students waved goodnight to him in mild confusion which Byleth returned, ignoring the delayed howl of laughter from Claude that carried out the door.

“‘Got lost’ my ass, you two!” followed them down the hall longer than any accusation ever should have. 

\---

“Hey, Dimitri,” Byleth called out from the bathroom connected to their room, attempting to smooth out where the fabric bunched up in places. “You’re probably going to need to do the hair ribbons later, I still haven’t quite gotten the hang of braids.” 

Dimitri called back that it wouldn’t be a problem while he studied himself in the mirror. They had done a very good job at fitting the attire to his size. Too good, in fact, and he was now very curious as to how they had figured out his measurements. But at least it meant it fit comfortably. The fabric at his torso was tight, but not constrictive, clinging to his chest in a way that would have accentuated more than his tunic ever did. He was grateful they’d added a sheer black undershirt to the spots on his chest and stomach where the blue fabric broke apart. One could still see a hint of skin underneath, but it was more modest than what he remembered Sothis herself in. 

He couldn’t say the same for his legs, stark against the dark blue of the fabric swinging behind him just above the floor. They’d been kind enough to give him shorts, but to say they still left nothing to the imagination was an understatement. Having his arms and shoulders bare was odd enough for him, bare legs would take some time to get used to. How that would be safe in battle he had no idea, but he supposed it wasn’t completely different than what dancers would wear out on the field. Whether that meant he should have done a better job dressing them, or he should just suck it up now, he wasn’t completely sure. Perhaps one of his dancers—almost certainly Felix from the one occasion he had assigned him the role—cursed him and this was the result. 

He fidgeted a bit with the ribbons tied to his wrists and sucked in a breath, hesitantly stepping out into the main room. Dimitri was comfortably sprawled out on a bed that finally fit him, and hadn’t yet noticed him. 

“What do you think?” he asked, trying not to give into his desire to run back into the bathroom and put on a decent pair of pants.

Dimitri popped up, his eyes widening the moment they landed on Byleth and his mouth dropping open. 

“That tells me nothing,” Byleth said as he slid up onto the bed, careful to move the ends of the dress so it would flare under him instead of bunching up. “I have to admit, I feel a little bit silly. It’ll definitely be a, uh, _statement_, in battle.”

Dimitri still failed to say anything, just staring in wonder. Mostly at his legs, from what Byleth could tell. 

Byleth leaned back on his palms, trying to figure out a way to position those legs on the bed that was not completely spread apart. “I am begging you to say something. And you can’t say ‘you look like a goddess’, because that’s cheating.”

Byleth shut his eyes as he spoke, stifling a yawn. He really was tired, all until he suddenly felt something grab onto his ankles and yank him down further on the bed, forcing him onto his back. When his eyes popped back open Dimitri was already over him. Amazing how all of a sudden he wasn’t tired any more. 

“You are going to get me killed on the battlefield wearing this,” Dimitri finally admitted, hands already exploring for what parts of Byleth’s skin he could get to in that get-up and settling on gripping his thighs. 

Byleth laughed despite himself, letting his body relax a little. “I take it you like it. I guess I’ll keep it.” 

“You’ll keep it on,” Dimitri responded, and if Byleth didn’t know better he would say that almost sounded like an order. And if he had more shame maybe he would have minded.

Instead, Byleth wrapped his legs around Dimitri’s hips as he leaned down to kiss him, pressing his hands up against his chest. He could already feel Dimitri’s hands tugging at the fabric at his chest.

“Don’t you dare tear this, Dimitri.”

He could feel Dimitri smile against the kiss, and his hands moved to wrap under Byleth and pull him closer.

“Of course not. I’ll be very gentle with you, my beloved.”

They did get some sleep. Eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please follow me on social media for updates and art and general shenanigans!  
@Horobinota_Arts (art-only twitter) or @Horobean (personal; I'm more talkative on this one!)  
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> 
> Thanks for all your support so far! <3 And feel free to interact with me on twitter and stuff, I'm much less shy about responding on there than I am here for some reason. |"D/


	30. Common World Domination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Mostly canon-level violence, but some descriptions might bother the squeamish, please proceed with caution!
> 
> Alright, so at the risk of being super cliche, the last two chapters will be named after songs that I've since really come to associate with Byleth and Dimitri and wanna share!. This one being for Byleth (you'll wanna turn on subtitles): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Z3TbMBfDM0
> 
> Thank you all so much for being so patient with me! These last chapters are really challenging to write, both lore wise and also cause just really want them to be enjoyable for ya'll! It's been a hell of a ride and I want to end on some exciting notes. Hope you enjoy. :D
> 
> (Also feel free to listen to some Shambhala or Apex of the World to set the mood.)

Byleth couldn’t say he ever cared for attention, no matter how often he managed to stumble into it.

First it was his odd facial expressions (or lack thereof). Then it was his mercenary self at the front of a classroom. Then the sword, then the hair and eyes. He was cursed to be a perpetually strange presence, and there was no escaping the eyes that would always follow him down the hallway.

Especially now, and he cursed Claude for it under his breath the entire way to the dining area. 

He was exhausted and sore—for reasons entirely his own (and Dimitri’s) fault—and all he wanted was a quiet morning. And a bagel. The latter wasn’t likely to happen given the food supplies Judith had managed to procure were limited, but a man could dream. Byleth slipped his way through the double doors and kept his head down, heading straight to where other sleep-fogged soldiers were lined up for breakfast. 

The sharp whistle behind him meant he wasn’t about to get that quiet morning either.

“Hot _damn_, Professor,” Sylvain cackled behind him, slinging an arm over his shoulder and pulling Byleth’s attention reluctantly from his potential breakfast. “If I knew you had legs like that, I wouldn’t have spent so much time skipping class! Where’d all this come from?”

Byleth subconsciously tugged at the free flowing fabric draping against his legs, praying once again to an indifferent goddess that nothing was visible that couldn’t be explained as a training accident. That had been the rule, but it was a bit hard to tell at the time if it was being followed. 

“If that was all it took to get you to show up, I would’ve taught my lectures in a bikini.” Byleth wiggled out from under Sylvain’s arm, turning to face him properly as the meal line shifted forward. Before he had a chance to answer his question, another excited gasp grabbed Sylvain’s attention. 

Annette’s bright orange head popped out from behind Sylvain, a Mercedes smiling brightly at her side. “Professor, you look amazing! It fits you so well!”

“Glad to hear that,” he half-mumbled in response. “You all did a wonderful job.”

“Did you two make this?” Sylvain asked. 

“We helped,” Annette grinned, glancing back at Mercedes. “But it was technically Claude’s idea.”

“‘Course it was. Can’t imagine what kind of scheme it’s supposed to be but I guess I can bother him about it later.” Sylvain laughed, patting Byleth’s shoulder. “So has the big guy seen you in this yet?”

“Yes!” Byleth answered too quickly to not be suspicious, wheeling around in line to snatch up a plate of mush that looked vaguely scrambled-egg like. “And look at that I think I see him at that table over there goodbye Sylvain!”

He just wanted a bagel, dammit.

Byleth shook his head, using a free hand to push wayward chunks of hair behind his ear. He’d told Dimitri not to wait for him this morning despite his protests, knowing Byleth would be a bit slower than usual to get ready. Unfortunately, it meant there was no one around to help him with his braids and it left more hair than usual flaring out in a wild, poorly tamed bedhead. He could hear Sylvain, Annette and Mercedes rushing to catch up, and chose to ignore his impending doom in favor of plopping down next to Dimitri.

“I know I shouldn’t complain but I’m going to anyway,” Byleth announced, causing Dimitri to jolt in surprise from where he’d been engrossed in conversation with Ingrid across from him. “These eggs look like shit.”

“You’re not wrong,” Ingrid sighed, before she got a proper look at her visitor. “Oh! Oh, um, morning Professor. You look,” she smiled, despite her brow scrunching up in confusion. “Nice.”

Byleth plopped his hand on his cheek, poking boredly at his mush with a fork. “Wasn’t my idea, ask Mercedes or Claude.”

“No, no I’m being honest,” Ingrid insisted. “It’s very, uh, flattering! Right, Di— Dimitri?”

Byleth looked over to see Dimitri staring holes into his empty plate. He couldn’t properly see his face through the drape of hair, but the tips of his ears glowing bright pink told him enough. Byleth gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder as Sylvain and company finally caught up to the table. 

“I think he probably agrees with you, Ingrid,” Sylvain announced as he took the empty seat next to her. Mercedes and Annette plopped down next to Byleth, the former already beginning to fuss with the shoulder accessories like he was an actor about to go on stage. Sylvain leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially, “Who’da thought the King of Faerghus was a leg man.”

“Sylvain I will beat you to death with a fork,” Ingrid announced, followed quickly by a soft mutter across from her.

“Give it to me, I can make it hurt more.” 

Sylvain stuck out his tongue, unfazed by the threats. “Forgive me, Your Highness. And anyways wouldn’t it make more sense to stab me with the fork instead?” 

“Who’s getting stabbed?”

Byleth looked over to see Felix sliding into the seat next to Sylvain, brandishing a butter knife he absolutely did not need for his breakfast mush. Ashe and Dedue trailed behind him, sleeves and hair pulled back after having probably helped prepare breakfast. Byleth suddenly felt bad about insulting the eggs. It’s all they really had, in the end.

“Probably Sylvain,” Ashe said, and Sylvain responded with a big thumbs up.

Felix huffed, “Then he’s not worth it. Also why does the Professor look like that.”

“I’ve finally embraced religion,” Byleth announced, deadpan. 

“Mercedes, I didn’t know you were a religion,” Annette said through a mouthful. “Or is it Claude, and you’re like his Seteth. But prettier.”

Mercedes giggled behind her hand, as Dedue leaned in to look down the table. “Regardless of the reason, it fits him well.”

“And that is how you compliment someone on their clothing, _Sylvain_,” Ingrid said. “Thank you, Dedue.”

Sylvain gestured broadly. “Am I not allowed to tell my Professor he has a rockin’—”

The sound of a fork being loudly snapped in half cut Sylvain off as the entire table turned to look at Dimitri, who was smiling blankly.

“My apologies,” he said, continuing to slowly bend back each prong of the fork like it was made of rubber. “Please, Sylvain, do continue.”

There was a long pause as Sylvain noted the mangled silverware, before clicking his tongue and leaning forward on his elbows. “Sorry, did I say Professor? I definitely meant Dimitri.”

Ingrid pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed while the rest of the table stifled their giggles, Byleth included. Dimitri’s threatening smile quickly devolved into worry.

“Sylvain—”

“No, no, Your Highness, it’s true,” Sylvain exclaimed. “Like you were already a cutie in the Academy, I think we can all agree on that.” He turned to look down the table, holding up his hand. “Who here wanted to be swept away by the storybook prince?”

Every hand that wasn’t poorly covering a grin was raised, albeit Felix’s had to be forcibly pried from the table, still gripping his butter knife. 

Dimitri shook his head, covering his face with a hand. “Sylvain this is unnecessary I was joking about the fork—”

Sylvain interjected “Ah but you see, that is the key to your charm! A sweet, kindly little noble boy hiding an absolute beast behind those pretty blue eyes—”

“—eye,” Byleth said.

“Now eye,” Sylvain amended. “And he grows up into a rugged, gothic armor clad warrior who literally comes back from the dead—”

“—That’s not really how you use ‘literally’,” Ashe chimed in. 

“As I said, he literally comes back from the dead, y’know someone better be writing this down because after this war is over I’m refusing my position as Margrave to pursue my dreams of being a sexy romance novelist.”

“Excuse me a what?” Ingrid and Felix asked in time, Sylvain merely plowing through as he stood up from his chair, gesturing theatrically.

“And _then_ our dark, angsty hero, pushed to the very limits of humanity, right in his greatest hour of despair, is reunited with the shining beacon of hope that is his former childhood love!”

“Does seventeen count as childhood?” Annette asked.

Ingrid shrugged. “I thought his childhood crush was Felix. They held hands all the time.”

“Wha— All of us did that,” Felix spat back.

She shrugged again. “I assumed we all had a crush on Dimitri. He was adorable.”

“Ingrid I’m begging you not to make this worse,” Dimitri groaned into his hands, slumping further into his seat.

“Hey, I’m not the one writing your biography.”

Sylvain coughed loudly into his fist, causing Byleth to jump when he realized he’d snuck up behind him. He grabbed his shoulders and leaned in, continuing his over dramatic narration with a shit-eating grin. “The gift from the Goddess herself smiles upon his former prodigy, wrapping him up in gentle arms and wiping away his relieved tears—”

“Oh Dimitri was definitely not crying.” Byleth said. “Actually, I think the first thing he did was hiss at me.”

“I did not hiss at you,” Dimitri muttered. 

“What did you do then? I forgot, it’s all a blur now.”

“I threw a rock at you. And then probably hissed.”

“Ah, yep, I remember that now. I had that bruise for a week.”

“I needed to make sure you weren’t a ghost.”

“Will you two stop interrupting me,” Sylvain asked through gritted teeth, slinging his arms around both their shoulders. 

“Sorry, please carry on, I’m invested,” Byleth said.

“Please don’t,” Dimitri pleaded.

“So anyways there were many tears shed, and after many, many months of gently nursing the broken beast back to health and sanity,” Sylvain announced, straightening up and shoving Dimitri and Byleth together, “they were finally able to unite in love, and come together to defeat the Great Red Gremlin of Adrestia, bringing peace and prosperity to all! Eh, except the Alliance because they’re not important, I guess.”

“Hey, fuck you Gautier!” was shouted from across the room. Byleth thought it was Leonie. “Your story sucks!”

“Jeez okay, Claude can be there or something!”

“A rival love interest,” Mercedes offered.

“Mercedes my dear you are brilliant.”

“I deny that the Empress is a gremlin!”

“Shut up Ferdinand he’s not wrong.”

“I think I would like to die now,” Dimitri said under his breath.

“Before seeing our lives adapted into a stage play?” Byleth laughed, shoving Sylvain’s hand off his shoulder. “I think Dorothea would do a fantastic job portraying me.”

“I’m actually a bit surprised,” Ingrid mused. “I expected Sylvain to come up with something far more inappropriate, considering what started the conversation.”

“Control yourself, Ingrid,” Sylvain said with a smile. “Sure we all want to be ravished by the hot piece of ass that is the Prince of Faerghus, but describing that’s really only something I’m sure Professor could do justice. But I’d love to read _that_ book when you’re done with it.” 

He laughed, peeking with one eye open at Byleth, who silently handed his unmangled fork to Dimitri. His laughter very quickly switched to a nervous giggle. “Oh shit, uh, hold that thought actually I think I hear someone calling for me if you’ll excuse me.”

Sylvain almost knocked Byleth’s chair over with how quickly he wheeled away, followed by Dimitri’s chair sliding back with a loud scrape as he shot up, fork in hand.

“Get him, boar,” Felix ordered through a mouthful of eggs.

Dimitri smiled back politely at the table, nodding his head. “Thank you for a lovely breakfast everyone. My apologies in advance.” He turned in the direction of the doorway, brandishing the fork like a sword in battle. Then he took a deep breath, and bellowed.

_“I’ll have your head, Sylvain Gautier!”_

A shrill shriek echoed through the neighboring hallway as Dimitri launched himself towards the exit, abandoning his table that had erupted into raucous laughter. He managed an impressive spin right at the doorway, narrowly avoiding barreling into a bewildered soldier before sprinting out of sight.

Byleth let out an exasperated sigh once everyone had begun to settle down. “And here I thought he was over the beheading thing.”

“His Highness is merciful,” Dedue responded, nodding his head. “Sylvain’s death will be painless.” 

Ashe looked out solemnly, saluting to no one in particular. “We thank you for your service, Sylvain.” Annette, Ingrid and Felix wordlessly copied him, and with another small wave of laughter, everyone returned to their own aimless chatter.

“Pardon me, Professor Byleth.” A voice caught his attention before he could begin to contemplate eating the last of his breakfast with his hands, given his fork was now probably impaled in Sylvain’s neck. Byleth turned to see the soldier who’d just walked in, clutching a small parchment in her hands. “A message for you, from an Imperial messenger. They’ll be waiting with us for a response.”

Byleth frowned, taking the letter from her. The empire? “Ah, thank you very much.” The soldier nodded and quickly shuffled away, leaving Byleth to unfold the parchment and scan it over. He could feel Ingrid and Felix’s eyes on him as he did.

“What’s it say?” Ingrid asked. “Is it from Edelgard?”

“Looks like it,” Byleth mumbled back, reading and re-reading each line to ensure he understood every bit of it. He fought back the urge to thrust the parchment at Ingrid and make her confirm he wasn’t hallucinating any of it. 

“Well,” Felix huffed, tapping the table impatiently. “What does she want?”

“The date we plan to march for Shambhala,” Byleth said, folding the parchment up and staring blankly at the table. “So she can supply us a convoy of supplies and soldiers.”

“You liar,” Felix snapped and snatched the letter out of Byleth’s hands, pouring over it only to let it flutter to the table moments later. 

Byleth slumped back into his seat, a weight that had been silently crushing him ever since the monastery attack crumbling off of him all at once. 

“Do you,” Ingrid started, peeking over at what she could see of the letter, “Do you think Edelgard really does want to help us?”

“It’s a little late for that shit,” Felix muttered, going back to twirling his butterknife between his fingers. 

Byleth huffed out a breathy laugh. “And yet we’ll just have to take her on the offer anyways.”

\---

In four day’s time, was Byleth’s answer. The messenger seemed pleased to hear it, confirming that would be enough time so long as Byleth could keep everyone’s current hide-out secret. 

And he did, somehow.  
There was no stopping the anxious glances directed at the sky, the reluctance to venture further than the treeline of the surrounding forests, the insistence to keep close to exits when wandering about the fort. But they managed to get through four days, and Byleth managed to get four days worth of sleep.

That latter bit had taken some cajoling on everyone’s part. After Byleth had been caught asleep on random stairwells twice in one afternoon, he had been relegated to his bedroom for the remaining days. It had driven him nearly mad. They were so close to the end of everything, there was so much he still had left to manage, and no one would allow him anything other than the occasional cup of shitty tea. Every time Dimitri would come in to check on him, he would cling to his arm and insist that he could help. And every time Dimitri would smile, leave a gentle peck on his forehead, and assure him that he was more than capable of preparing everyone. And that even if he wasn’t, he had Claude, and Seteth, and all of his classmates to turn to. 

Despite the stress and the worry and the anxiety squirming about in his gut, the pride Byleth felt whenever Dimitri said that warmed him enough to return to sleep. 

And then he woke up, and it was the day of the march. 

“Oh, good morning, beloved,” Dimiri said, slipping into their room. He was already fitted into his black armor once again, beautiful blue cloak sweeping over the dusty floor. Byleth was quietly thankful Dimitri’s get-up was one of the ones to survive the move, and he wondered if he could convince Dimitri never to switch to that ghastly white armor he was eventually supposed to take. If they survived today, he supposed. Goddess help them—

Actually, who was Byleth supposed to pray to for help anyways.

“Morning, Dimitri,” Byleth said through gritted teeth, attempting to tie the ribbons to his wrist himself and failing spectacularly. With a stifled chuckle, Dimitri padded over and took the ribbons from Byleth and began to tie them. 

“Just Dimitri? Still haven’t thought up a nickname yet?” Dimitri smiled down at him through messy strands of hair. Surely Dedue had helped him into his armor this morning, but neither must have had time to do anything about his blonde rat’s nest.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been good at those,” Byleth admitted, looking down at the silk strands dangling from his wrist. “Oh, wait, actually.”

“Did you think of something already?” he laughed.

“Of course not,” Byleth replied, quickly undoing the silk strands dangling from his right wrist despite Dimitri’s distressed huff.

“Byleth I just tied that—”

“Shush and bend down for a second.” Byleth snuck around to Dimitri’s back, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking it back into a ponytail. After a couple moments of struggle, he managed to get everything tied up, the long white ribbon standing out where it fell against the black matte of fur on his cape. 

“There. Now everyone will know you’re uh,” Byleth snorted, “I dunno, an Apostle of the Goddess. There we go, that’s your new nickname.”

Dimitri shook his head, a crooked little smile on his face. “Never mind, Dimitri is a perfectly fine name. Anything is better than Your Highness, really. Now let me help you with your braids,” he said, leading Byleth over to the nearby desk chair. 

Byleth’s eyes wandered to the desk as Dimitri got to work, eventually passing over the journal tucked neatly in the corner, away from the mess of letters and lists. He picked it up, running his thumb over the worn leather cover, pulling it closer to him.

“Oh, you still have it.” Dimitri said, pausing mid-plait to stare at his old journal.

“Of course,” Byleth replied. “I always kept it on me. I still need to figure out how to fit it into this outfit.”

“You’re going to bring it onto the battlefield?” he asked through a surprised chuckle, tying off the end of Byleth’s second braid and walking over to the bed to retrieve the little gold headdress intended to complete the ensemble. 

Byleth folded his arms indignantly. “Of course I am. If you get to bring my dagger and my ribbon with you, I get something of yours. Especially since my fur cloak didn’t make it.”

“I promise you when all of this is over, I will get you a much nicer cloak than that one.” 

“No, I want something freshly skinned. But make it a demonic beast this time, that’ll be much more impressive to show off.” Byleth smiled up at him, his eyes sparkling. “I’ll twirl around and announce to the world how brave and strong my beautiful boyfriend is. And then they will say ‘we know, Professor, we’ve met him.’”

Dimitri gently rested the headdress atop Byleth’s head, allowing his fingers to trail back down and rest against his jaw, cupping his face. Byleth pressed his hands up against Dimitri’s, and closed his eyes when he bent down and pressed their foreheads together. 

“We’ll survive this, I promise,” Dimitri whispered. His voice was gentle, but this close Byleth could hear the way it shook ever so slightly. “I promise to protect everyone.”

“I’ll be with you no matter what,” Byleth responded. He smiled softly, squeezing Dimitri’s hands from where they were so warm and comforting. “And I’m so proud of you. I love you, my lion.”

“I’ll take that,” Dimitri smiled, pulling Byleth into a long, soft kiss. “I love you too, my beloved.”

\---

Byleth looked back at the convoy behind him, double the size from only a couple hours ago. 

Edelgard had made true of her word. Intercepting them after marching from an Empire friendly Alliance city, had been a fully stocked force of soldiers bringing with them extra mounts, armor and weapons. Edelgard herself had not been among them, though Byleth had not expected her to. Instead, the young general leading them had left him with yet another missive, while the rest of their forces joyfully restocked and passed around gear to whoever needed it the most.

The letter was short, in quickly scribbled cursive that Byleth struggled to interpret at first.

_“Professor—_

_I hope these forces will be enough to aid you. Please personally check the weapons convoy, there will be important equipment that should be passed out appropriately. _

_I am sorry myself and Hubert will not be joining you. We will be keeping their attention off of you during your travels. Please give my well wishes to the Black Eagles, and inform them that their involvement is not an order. If they choose to fight with you, it will be done of their own volition._

_To you, and to Dimitri, Claude and Seteth; I accept the chance you have given me. I will not squander it now. Thank you. _

_Stay safe. The Agarthans are not as strong as they may seem. But perhaps you already knew that._

_—Edelgard.”_

The letter was now safely tucked away in his journal, the same one Byleth’s hand kept absently slipping to brush over. Back in it’s usual place tucked in his belt, which he’d awkwardly slung up under his new ensemble. It was for the best anyways, he’d needed a place to clip the Sword of the Creator to. 

It continued to intermittently glow, growing brighter as clouds darkened in the sky. The only difference was the matching orange glimmers spaced out in the crowd behind him.

He had no idea how Edelgard had managed to gather them so quickly, and without suspicion. He figured there would always be things she managed that he couldn’t wrap his head around. But it didn’t matter. When he’d stepped into the weapons wagon Edelgard’s troops had kept under close watch, all he could care about was another surge of hope that cut through his heart.

Blutgang, Crusher, The Lance of Ruin, Luin, the Aegis Shield and Thyrsus were returned to their rightful owners after having been ripped away by the Adrestrian army many years before. Matched with the Freikugel Claude and Judith had already been pulling strings to retrieve from Goneril territory, it was a beautiful sight to see. He knew where those weapons came from, and maybe that wasn’t beautiful. But he’d felt a certain contentment seeing the weapons pass into hands that would care for them, and hands that now knew just as well as he did how much care they deserved. 

Byleth twisted a little more on the back of the horse Dimitri was quietly steering at the head of their army, keeping an arm still tight around his waist as his gaze passed over the faces behind him. Most of the Blue Lions had also wandered up near the front, sharing horses and pegasi with each other. His students’ faces beamed back at him, bright and determined despite everything.

He smiled back, and quickly turned back to bury his face into Dimitri’s cape, giving him a gentle squeeze that was met with a gauntleted hand intertwining their fingers. He swallowed back the surge of emotions rolling around in his head and let the gentle rocking of the horse and the warmth of the fur on his face calm him.

\---

They arrived within two days, coming to rest deep within the mountain range splitting Adrestria and Leicester. 

Both he and Dimitri had dismounted, passing along the horse to a cavalryman in need. Dedue remained on his own mount, keeping close to his charge, where they talked quietly. Too quietly for Byleth to hear, but he didn’t feel the need to eavesdrop. He’d taken Dimitri away from Dedue enough as it was. They deserved a bit of privacy.

Claude’s wyvern slithered gracefully to Byleth’s left, both her rider and an added Hilda looking around in wonder as the mountainside slowly began to twist into metal, man-made structures protruding from gaps in the cliffs. A secret place in their own territory. Another wyvern, Seteth’s, protruded from the crowd a ways behind. He would stay back to lead the Knights of Seiros, and help keep tabs on the Black Eagles, being managed by Ferdinand without their Empress present. The Blue Lions and Golden Deer intermingled near the front, all of them maintaining an overwhelming silence broken only by the jostling of armor and the sounds of mounts. 

The further they marched down, Byleth saw the first flickers of that strange, artificial blue light flare up in the growing darkness. The more it overtook them, the more muted gasps he could hear behind them. It really was wondrous, despite itself. The way unsteady rock slipped into sheer black metal under their feet, how the blue light that clashed with the steady orange pulse of his sword reflected off the walls closing around them, it felt like magic. But a different kind, an inorganic kind, something dark and oppressive the same as it was beautiful to watch. 

From his side, Claude cleared his throat, the sound reverberating around them. “So,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over his wyvern’s claws clacking against the tile. “I’ve been here before, huh?”

“In a sense,” Byleth replied. 

“You think I’ll be able to survive it again?” he asked through a crooked smile. Hilda frowned behind him, flicking the back of his head. 

Byleth sucked in a breath, steadied his voice. “As long as you listen to and remember my orders.”

“I guess I’m doomed, then,” Claude chuckled, before staying quiet for a long, thoughtful moment. “It’s really gonna happen?”

“What is?” 

Dimitri glanced away from his conversation with Dedue, briefly meeting Claude’s eyes. “You mean Nemesis.” Claude nodded.

Byleth bit his lip, letting his travel from the hilt of his sword to the book on his hip, anything to keep him calm. He wasn’t the only one, he’d noticed. Dimitri had been fidgeting with his dagger any time he had a free hand. They were both messes, weren’t they.

“No. Not if we can stop them from breaking the seal. I saw it happen before, we can stop it,” Byleth said. And even if it did happen, well. They would fight and win, because they had to. They hadn’t fought them back to back, last time, but that didn’t matter. Surely it didn’t. He couldn’t in good conscious retreat further, knowing whole towns would be laid to waste if he did. They would manage it. But they also had a chance to stop it from happening at all. “Let’s focus on the fight actually ahead of us.”

“Yessir,” Claude replied, and let himself and his mount fall back to mix more with his own class. 

It was silent for a long while after that. 

Byleth led them all further downwards, down massive flights of stairs and winding halls, moving on a ghost of a memory, until those halls began to break into four different routes. He unclipped his sword, and heard a dozen others do the same, metal scraping against their scabbards. And with a silent gesture forward, his army began to split.

Claude gave a playful grin as he led his Deer and the small battalions of Alliance soldiers to his assigned place, disappearing down a nearby corner. The Blue Lions huddled in closer as the Knights of Seiros marched past them, Seteth nodding silently to Byleth, Flayn clinging to his back. Many of the older nobles that had been swept up into their group, Judith and Gilbert and Rodrigue, travelled gladly with them. Behind them marched the remaining Imperial battalions that had not been passed among Byleth’s dwindling forces, headed by the Black Eagles. They waved and smiled as they passed, each one having unequivocally agreed to remain regardless of orders. Even without their leader, they moved confidently. Byleth would not be able to give them all orders for much of this fight. But that was okay, he thought. He hoped. 

He turned to face the last of his army, his students watching and waiting for his order to move into what would become their battlefield. Dimitri stood at the front of them all, shoulders squared, head up, eye clear and bright. For a moment, Byleth could have thought they’d returned to the academy. 

He wished Sothis could see how strong they’d gotten too. She would have been so proud of them. He knew that, at least.

“Who’s ready to end a war?” Byleth said, a small smile tugging at his lips. Eight faces nodded back at him. Dimitri took his spot at his side, and motioned for his class to follow him down the nearest hall. Darkness swallowed them for a brief moment, weighing down before lifting out into a grand, cavernous room. Short walls appeared to snake around the edges, and a great bunker stood in the center, atop a flight of stairs.

Byleth looked out over the long balcony they stood on, a field of soldiers garbed in deep blacks and burgundies below him.

There were so many more of them. Too many. More than there had been before, Byleth knew. 

They were waiting for them this time. 

Byleth hid the fear in his eyes under an impassive face, stepping forward and looking out for the enemy general. Thales had been out there before, certainly he would be out there now. For a brief moment he considered calling out. Offering a chance to surrender, a chance where maybe the Agarthans innocent of their leaders’ actions would have a chance to peacefully live out their lives. A part of him just wanted to end this without fighting, without the risk of getting this far and losing someone. 

But he didn’t. He couldn’t have, because a different voice beat him to it, booming around them.

“Welcome, Fell Star!” came from a figure perched on a raised platform in the center of the field. Thales, his shocking white face stark against the darkness of everything else around him. Behind him was another mage, and yet another figure hunched on the ground, just barely out of sight. “Or rather, Sothis. Come to finish ridding the Agarthans from the world you have claimed, have you?”

“It’s actually Byleth,” he responded, stepping further forward to the edge of the balcony, trying to peer at what else was out there waiting for them. He gestured to himself, to the shimmering blue fabric brushing the ground with every step. “But I understand the confusion. I’m here to end this war you’ve helped start. If you’d like to surrender now, I’d appreciate it.”

Thales scoffed, spreading his arms wide. “Yet you speak with the same arrogant derision as her! We will not be stepping aside and allowing you to force us back into the dark a second time. We will annihilate you, and all of the humans who have foolishly chosen to ally with the monsters who seek only to subjugate them!”

“There are Agarthans who have had nothing to do with this war! End this cruelty and we can help them out of here,” Byleth cried back. “If you care about anything other than domination, you have a chance to save hundreds of lives!”

“This is not domination, it is _vengeance_,” he hissed. “Punishment for the sins of an arrogant goddess and her kind!”

Thales swept to the side as he paused, bringing the crumpled figure behind him into full view. “And it is punishment for the traitors who would seek to forgive them!”

A figure bright in beautiful reds and golds, writhed in pain on the ground below. 

_“EL!”_

Dimitri stumbled forward to the edge, face etched with horror as they all looked out on Edelgard’s form, twitching and writhing and crying out with pained whines that echoed against the cold walls. 

“What did you do to her!?” he snarled, brandishing Areadbhar as if he could strike down Thales on the spot. 

“Oh look at that, the one Cornelia failed to be rid of,” he said. “Though I supposed I made a similar miscalculation so long ago. Why would you look upon this woman with pity?” Thales sneered up at them both, a boot coming down on Edelgard’s back that elicited a sharp cry of pain. “She is the cause of all of this! Forgiving her will not bring those slaughtered in Duscur back, you pathetic child!”

“I know it was _you_ who started the Tragedy!” Byleth gripped on to Dimitri’s cape as he launched himself forward, nearly falling off the balcony itself as he snarled and spat at Thales’ words. “Perhaps your death will not bring back the dead,” Dimitri roared, a twisted smile tearing at his face despite the pain in his eye. “But it will bring me nothing but joy to rip your head from your shoulders!”

Thales barked out a laugh, gesturing to them and instead addressing the Agarthans gathered below him. “So this is what happens to humans that walk beside monsters, is it? Then, do you not think it better to allow beasts to fight amongst each other!”

A cheer erupted from the soldiers gathered around him, nearly drowning out Edelgard’s agonized scream as she threw her head back, strange, warped hands clawing at her face and chest. Great brown plates of scale and sinew began to erupt from her back and sides, tearing through her skin and dress and forming around her like a protective shell. 

Dimitri stumbled back, face paling as all he could do was stand and watch Edelgard’s body warp and contort, her limbs twisting to something long and inhuman, her figure growing with sickening snaps and cracks. All any of them could do was watch, and listen to her distorted scream.

It was wrong.

Byleth felt as though he was going to collapse, as though he was going to join Edelgard’s screams with his own. He shut his eyes despite himself, a thousand thoughts and emotions all crying at once.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She was supposed to be safe. She was going to be. They were going to come back from this and reach out a hand and lead them all to a happy ending. They were so close to a happy ending. She was no longer the final hurdle, the final boss. This wasn’t some game, some story where her role was set in stone. Her fate wasn’t to die just because he hadn’t chosen the right class.

When Byleth opened his eyes again, there was a demonic beast where Edelgard once was. 

Towering over Thales and his army, her face sunken and dark, glowing red eyes staring back at him. Something black and oily came running down from her eyes, curving down her cheeks and dropping with thick splatters to the floor. She stayed like that, motionless, with no sound but a distorted whimper. 

“This is the punishment for defying us, and bending a knee to the Nabateans,” Thales said. With nothing but a single gesture forward, he commanded her.

“Kill them all, little Empress.”

Byleth was barely able to bark out a command to run before a massive blast of magic crashed through the balcony and sent him flying. 

His ears were ringing as he was thrown to the tile, nearly avoiding cracking his skull against the metal. Noise erupted from everywhere around him, the sound of Agarthans launching into battle intermingling with the orders he thought he heard Dimitri bellow somewhere above him. Suddenly a hand was gripping the back of his gown and hoisting him up.

“Ashe can pass on the orders, what do you want us to do,” Dimitri asked, holding Byleth steady. 

“I,” Byleth struggled, his head already pounding, blood pulsing loudly in his ears. “Focus on the Agarthans and their Titanus golems. We need to kill Thales before he can break the seal on Nemisis. Avoid Edelgard without attacking her.”

“Are they controlling her?”

“It’s possible, I don’t,” he stammered, throwing them both aside to avoid another stray magic blast, now from a distant mage. “She’s not supposed to—”

“Then we’ll keep her alive,” he said, giving his hand a quick, hard squeeze. Byleth could see through the haze of his own thoughts the desperation on Dimitri’s face. “I will not let them take El from me again.”

With that he pulled away, rushing to Ashe to deliver the orders and send him charging with his horse around the balcony corners, heading to where the other forces should still be stationed. Byleth could hear the sounds of wyverns screeching in the distance, the battle raging in full. Byleth fixed his grip on the Sword of the Creator and ran into the thick after him. 

They were avoiding him. 

Byleth dipped and weaved through enemy forces, his sword cutting through whatever unlucky soldier had stumbled into his path. But that was what it was. Accidents, soldiers realizing at the last minute who their blade had turned on, a horrified expression the last thing on their face. They piled onto his students, Dimitri bludgeoning each one that charged at him with a gruesome meticulousness where there wasn’t pure, bloodthirsty anger. Yet his path continuously cleared, leaving him freedom to charge at the great metallic golems that loomed over them all, mindless creations that failed to balk when Byleth threw his blade at them.

He didn’t want to believe it. Claude’s scheme may have held some weight after all. Despite Thales’ boisterous words, his army’s jeers, they were afraid of the goddess. They were afraid of him.

All except Edelgard.

There were times he was able to duck behind the Titanus, using their massive bodies to take the brunt of Edelgard’s blasts. Other times, it was all he could do to throw himself out of the way of coming blasts, rolling out of the way of another massive sword coming down to cleave him in two. Regardless, as long as he was within Edelgard’s attack range, she would fixate on him. And that was fine. He had already promised the rest he would keep the golems busy for as long as possible, and he did. Thunder crackled in the palm, shooting out wildly and searing what didn’t find itself impaled on his blade. He could keep them busy, and he could keep Edelgard busy too. 

After incapacitating a Titanus long enough for Sylvain and Felix to come charging over with their battalions, he ducked away once more, looking up to see Edelgard’s blackened eyes following his movement. For a split second, he saw her mouth move, her eyes flicker about the room and he followed them. Thales was gone from her side, he realized. She telegraphed another blast and he took the chance to duck behind a platform rising up from the ground, sending his sword up to take out the archer launching arrows at Ingrid, wheeling above them. He peeked around the corner and met Edelgard’s eyes once again, more silent words from her sunken maw as black tar continued to trickle down her face. 

_I’m sorry. Help me. I’m sorry._

Again, her eyes flicked around each corner of the room. They held longer on the far side of the room, directed at something hidden within the locked bunker. She shuddered, and turned her attention back to him.

Another blast rattled the platform, sending embers floating down around him. She would be forced to target someone else if he didn’t move. Byleth struggled to catch his breath, then shoved himself away from the wall, mindful of the main fray. The Titanus were managed more, the massive number of Agarthans thinning, but he couldn’t afford to bring Edelgard’s wrath down on his own soldiers. 

The further they all pushed to the center of the room, the more bolts of lightning came from Agarthan contraptions. They streaked across the roof, coming down on his army at random. As he twisted out of the way of a javelin, he caught sight of one crashing down where Annette was trading blows with another mage. He froze, a moment away from triggering Divine Pulse, from throwing everything back for a mere moment. The she lifted herself from the wall she’d been thrown against. Mercedes’ healing magic lit up her body, and she threw herself back into the battle, bringing down Crusher and crumpling her attacker. Byleth exhaled, focusing back on a cavalryman rearing back for another strike. 

He apologized under his breath while he flicked forward his sword and embedded it in the cracks of the Agarthan’s armor. Not for that necessarily. But for being so willing to bend his promise. 

He wouldn’t turn back time to the beginning, never again. But if he was really supposed to be a god, he would bend the rules of time for a second if it meant saving his family’s life.

Byleth managed to break out into the center of the room, cutting towards what looked like a mounted general. The frey was getting thicker, more Agarthans and more soldiers, now in wide swathes of colors. Silver, red, gold and blue armor spun around him, and left his vision a chaotic mess. He watched someone with the Crest of Seiros etched into their armor fall to a sword embedded in their chest. A red-saddled pegasus came tumbling down out of the sky after being shot by a bolt of lightning. Neither was someone Byleth knew. He cursed and kept running. He needed to get to the center room, he needed to get to where Thales was hiding. He was certain that was who Edelgard kept looking for, who was pulling her strings. Her attacks were growing more erratic, surely she was struggling to focus on someone in the masses. Strangely, few of her attacks came crashing down around him. They streaked above him, targeting the stragglers in open areas. 

Was she intentionally avoiding the masses of soldiers, regardless of where Byleth was? Was it fear of collateral damage, or did she want to target as few people as possible? Did she realize targeting him was pointless, or had he run too close to his allies to be safe to attack?

How much control of herself did she still have?

Byleth was broken out of his thoughts at the sound of a roar to his left, a loud crack ringing out the same time Areadbhar came whistling past him to embed itself in the skull of a warrior brandishing an axe behind him. Dimitri was a little ways beyond him, throwing down the body of a soldier who’s helmet had been crushed along with their head. He came running over, ripping Areadbhar out of the warrior’s chest and careening it into a nearby mage, nearly cleaving through her stomach. Byleth tried not to wince.

“The Titanus have been taken care of on all sides,” Dimitri panted, placing himself at Byleth’s back. They were surrounded by allies for the moment, but the safety of having Dimitri there was reassuring, regardless. “We don’t know how to stop the lightning strikes. Those are the Viskam, right?”

“Yeah,” Byleth said, taking the moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. He hadn’t realized how much blood had splattered up his legs, stained the beautiful embroidery on his gown. Dimitri was far worse, caked in red all up his arms, splattered over his face. It was impossible to tell what was his and what wasn’t. Viscera was caked all along Areadbhar to the point its Crest Stone’s glow was completely obscured. Byleth would have retched if he hadn’t grown so used to it. “There isn’t anything we can do about them, we need to focus on getting into that center bunker. That should be where Thales is. It should be guarded by someone”

“There is a calvary at the top of a staircase ahead of us. And something that looks like a magic seal there too, I think”

“That’d be a good bet. We need to get in and trap Thales there. Stop him before he can break that seal.”

Dimitri nodded and suddenly dashed away, Byleth sprinting after him and focusing on keeping any attackers off of him. He’d managed to meet the cavalry guard when a sharp screech reverberated from either side of the staircase, the air crackling around them and Byleth’s hair standing on end. The Viskam lit up in a blinding flash and set streaks of lightning shooting to the air at the same time. Byleth wheeled around to see where they flew, only to see them careen into Edelgard above them all.

They shot through her gnarled body as she howled in pain, magic shooting erratically from her clawed hands. It came down with no rhyme or reason, and screams of pain erupted from Agarthans and Fódlan soldiers alike, purple flames flaring up around them. The blood pounded in his ears again, and for a mere moment Byleth willed the world to slow down around him, only to be broken out of it by a hand pulling him up the stairs. A bloody key was thrust into his hands and suddenly he was being shoved over the body of a horse. 

“Wait, Dimitri no,” Byleth tried, tugging away to turn back towards the cries behind him. “I need to make sure they’re okay!”

“We don’t have time!”

“That attack might have killed someone!” he cried, all the sounds around beginning to overwhelm him again. He couldn’t see anyone, he didn’t know, what if one of his kids got caught up in that, what if they didn’t get out—

Dimitri grabbed a hold of his face, jerking his eyes away from the chaos of the field to look at him. His gauntlets smeared blood over Byleth’s cheeks and he fought back the urge to gag. 

“Byleth, _trust us_. Trust that we can take care of ourselves, of each other!” He pointed at Edelgard, her distressed howls carrying over the din. “Focus on who needs you right now, please. I promised you I’d protect everyone, and I’m not breaking it.” He let go, retrieving Areadbhar from the guard that had been pierced by it.

Byleth froze for a moment, breaking out of it with a frustrated cry that rattled against the door beside him. Turning his back on the rest of the army, he thrust the key in. Whatever mechanism kept the door locked collapsed, and the entire thing sunk into a pocket in the ground. He was met on the other side by a soldier reeling back with an axe, that crumpled the moment an arrow whizzed by Byleth’s head and into the man’s eye. He turned back to find Ashe behind them, bow still held up after his flawless shot. Dedue rode beside him, his shield held up in front of them all, wielding off attacks as the straggling Agarthan soldiers realized their commander was being closed in on. As the enemy forces thinned, more familiar faces flashed through his vision, more Heroes’ Relics flashing in the distance. 

Trust, he had to trust them. Another shot erupted from the Viskams and shot towards Edelgard once more. Dimitri pushed him through the doorway before he could see the outcome, only her screeches and the sound of magic booming against the walls left to envelope him. 

A mage jumped out of the shadows, and was just as quickly cut down. A sharp cry cut short sounded to his side as Dimitri was forced to do the same. The sounds outside were muted, far away. Ashe and Dedue blocked off the entrance, picking off anyone that attempted to follow. Byleth turned away and walked deeper, Dimitri following silently. 

At the very back was Thales, watching them enter with complete indifference.

“Do you think killing me will help you?” He asked. Deep purple magic danced in his hands. Byleth raised his sword once more. “Do you think it will save the girl?”

“A little bit,” Byleth admitted. “I think you won’t have control over her.”

He sneered. “She is attacking you of her own free will. She did this to herself. She _betrayed_ you, and you still wish to save her.”

Dimitri hissed, “You are a liar and murder. Enough.” 

“Then why is it you’re hesitating to attack me?” Thales smiled, an ugly thing that pulled at his sickly white skin. “You have questions, you are confused as to how this could have happened.”

“Go ahead, then. Explain,” Byleth ordered. His voice shook. In anger or fear he wasn’t sure.

“I already have! She’s betrayed you! How did you think we knew to expect you?” He gestured wildly, as if to the army fighting around them. “She believed you would fail to defeat what was to come, so she thought she too could play god! Such a shame we caught her little magic whelp sneaking about our labs for the answers to her fears.”

Byleth’s stomach dropped. Hubert? 

“Liar!” Dimitri snarled, and charged forward only to be shot back into the wall by a blast of black magic. His head snapped against the wall with a sickening crack as purple flames licked at the ends of his cape.

“But we are a kind people, not like yours!” Thales cried. “She wished for power, and we gave it to her! We always had, ever since she was a child. My death will not save her from the power that will one day ruin her! And in return for all of our kindness, she gave us information! With that we would be prepared to stop you.”

Dimitri shifted, attempting to pull himself back to his feet, spitting blood to the floor. “She wouldn’t betray us!” Just as he stumbled forward, Thales threw him back against the wall with another blast. 

“Look out and see her, beast! She has betrayed you all!”

“No she hasn’t,” Byleth said quietly, wincing as Dimitri collapsed against the tile. “She didn’t tell you everything.”

It always sounded like shattering glass. Byleth didn’t know why. Like the fabric of time itself was collapsing around him, but only for a second. All the blood would rush to his head, and he would feel like falling through space only to find himself standing in the exact same spot. 

It was so easy to turn back time. It was terrifying. This would be the last time.

He sneered. “She is attacking you of her own free will. She did this to herself. She _betrayed_ you, and you still wish to save her.”

Dimitri hissed, “You are a liar and murder. Enough.” 

“Then why is it you’re hesitating to attack me—”

The Sword of the Creator slid through his gut like he was made of water, Thales’ words coming out in a bloody gurgle as he collapsed to the ground. A purposefully clean, finishing blow. Impossible to recover from, impossible to make a last ditch effort to unleash a true monster on all of them.

Dimitri lowered Areadbhar, his eyes wide in shock. “You—”

“He wasn’t going to tell us anything useful,” Byleth muttered, walking over to the corpse. Where he froze.

Thales’ face was melting away, layers of magic dripping off of an unfamiliar head. The corpse’s clothes did the same, slowly revealing the garb of an average mage. It was an unfamiliar magic, now dispersed to leave behind a nameless body. It was an unfamiliar magic, but one the Agarthans had used many times before. Ones he’d encountered so many times.

They’d known. They’d known he knew what was to happen. 

Edelgard had told them.

_“Get out, now!”_ Byleth screamed, sprinting towards the exit of the bunker. Dimitri followed on his heels, already bellowing orders to flee that fell on deaf ears. The sounds of magic crashing outside drowned both of them out. He saw their source as he burst out of the doorway. 

Dozens of his students had been locked in battle with Thales—the real one. He stood amidst the center of the seal, his hand held aloft. 

Byleth threw himself forward, pulling back the Sword of the Creator, only for Areadbhar to whiz past his head and pierce through the center of Thales’ chest. He stumbled back at the sight, Dimitri pushing past him while the Agarthan crumpled to the ground. In the moment it took Dimitri to loom over him, no magic had faded from him, nothing came but a startled gurgle and blood pooling out below him. Everyone pulled back, weapons lowered, startled by the suddenness of it all. The sounds of battle slowly faded away.

Edelgard, looming above them all, settled into silence above a pile of bodies.

Byleth took a step forward, only to halt and watch as Dimitri bent down and grabbed a fistful of Thales’ hair, wrenching his head up. The man gagged on the spit and blood trickling out of his mouth, his hands fumbling for a grip on the floor, palms pressed flat to the engravings below. 

“That was for my mother and father,” Dimitri hissed, his own blood dripping onto Thales’ snow white hair. _“This is for Duscur.”_

Dimitri tightened his grip, and slammed Thales’ head into the ground. 

He kept doing it. 

Over and over again, the sound of one bone after another cracking with each impact until it sounded as though Dimitri’s hand had broken through his skull. Even after that, he kept at it, turning every inch of white skin red. 

Everyone was transfixed on the sight, on the sounds, on the smell of blood. For a moment, no one noticed the way the rune below them lit up purple. 

Someone screamed, Byleth didn’t know who. He thought it may have been an order to run, but no one needed it. They’d all been told, they’d been prepared for what could happen if they’d failed. It didn’t matter anyways. The sound of the mountains around them trembling and collapsing drowned everyone’s sounds out. It didn’t matter.

Glass shattered around him. Again. 

Dozens of his students had been locked in battle with Thales—the real one. He stood amidst the center of the seal, his hand held aloft. 

Byleth threw himself forward, his sword faster than Areadbhar. It sliced through his neck, Thales’ head rolling to the ground. He collapsed in a bloody heap. 

The seal lit again.

The shatter was louder, like the glass had begun to pierce his ears.

Dozens of his students had been locked in battle with Thales—the real one. He stood amidst the center of the seal, his hand held aloft.

Byleth threw himself into Dimitri’s path, halting his lance and sending thunder and fire from his palms into the Agarthan’s back. He howled in surprise, in pain as Byleth set to burning him alive. He crumpled to the ground, gagging and coughing as the smoke billowed around him and his hands scrabbled at the floor. After a moment, he halted, a bloody smear left where his hands dug at the ground.

The seal lit again.

Byleth’s ears rang, and he felt like he’d been falling forever, through panes and panes of glass.

Dozens of his students had been locked in battle with Thales—the real one. He stood amidst the center of the seal, his hand held aloft.

Byleth clung to Dimitri’s cape, crying out to stop just long enough for his lance to lower, to hesitate. Thales turned to face them, a sneer snaking over his face, From his raised palm, a trickle of blood dripped down and onto the seal.

It lit. 

Byleth screamed. He thought it might have been the retreat order. He wasn’t sure. It might have just been a scream. At some point Thales crumpled again, after Dimitri cleaved his neck open. 

Everyone began the mad dash out, calvary and fliers scooping up infantry without so much as slowing down. Those with magic began warping as many people out as they could manage. It was a full retreat. Thales had been forgotten, intended to be left amongst the wreckage with the bodies of his army. It didn’t matter, so long as their army outran the missiles coming to turn Shambhala to rubble. 

Escape alive, retreat to an open field they’d passed on the way, heal each other, and wait for whatever followed them out of those mountains. That had been Byleth’s order. 

He needed to get Edelgard out. How would he get her out. Blood, they’d made it activate with Thales’ blood. He couldn’t stop blood from falling. Why had he failed again. How was he supposed to get her out?

Edelgard watched the waves of soldiers sprinting by her, scrambling to escape. Something like fear flickered over her face, as she settled her gaze on Byleth. He was about to run towards her when a heavy hand grabbed the back of his gown, and then slipped under his shoulders to lift him off the ground.

“Dimitri?! What are you doing—”

“I’m sorry, Byleth. I know you may not forgive me for this.” 

Suddenly he was being passed from Dimitri’s arms to Dedue’s, who’d pulled his horse past them. It was smooth, too fast for Byleth to struggle, as if it had been planned. Dimitri thanked Dedue, and gave him a gentle reminder of how much he cared for him. He was smiling.

“I thought someone might risk getting left behind. I never thought it would be El, though.” Dimitri said, something sad hiding in his eye. “I promised you I would help protect everyone, remember?” 

Byleth struggled to get out of Dedue’s arms, beating against his armor as his horse began to turn away. He couldn’t see the way Dedue’s face had contorted, holding back his own pain. “Dimitri! No, you’re coming with me! Dedue let me go, I’m not leaving him!” 

“I can’t leave her here alone.”

“No!”

“I’ll always be by your side!”

_“No!”_

Dimitri waved as Dedue ignored Byleth’s pleas and urged his horse into a gallop. His smile hadn’t left his face as he cried out after them. “I love you, my beloved!”

_“Dimitri!”_

Byleth’s screams echoed around them, and it sounded like shattered glass, but nothing would turn back. Dimitri’s figure only grew smaller and darker until he was swallowed completely, and Byleth had nothing left to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >83c
> 
> Follow me on social media for updates and art and general shenanigans! I love to hear from folks. :D  
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	31. I'm Glad You're Evil Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A year later, and we've finally made it to the end. Thank you all so much for coming on this ride with me and supporting me through what started as a personal bet. I honestly can't thank you all enough for your kindness, I only hope this end has been worth the wait.
> 
> Feel free to bring up the FE3H OST for some mood music. 
> 
> And for this chapter, it was named after this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLevj9bdRRA (Cheesy, I know lol.) It's a song I've really closely associated with my Dimitri and Byleth since I started this fic, and it's one of my favorites. (Subtitles on!)
> 
> Please enjoy this excessively long chapter, haha! Thank you again!

Byleth didn’t see the first missile.

He wouldn’t have known it was coming, had it not been the dull light that washed over the backs of the soldiers in front of him.

It struck just after Dedue’s horse came galloping through the mouth of the caverns.

It shook the ground with such force it felt as though they would both have been ripped from their saddle, had it not been for Dedue’s iron grip on the reins, and on Byleth’s waist. It left bruises that mixed nicely with the ones the Agarthans had left for him.

Byleth’s ears rang with the sound of collapsing cliffs slamming into metal. Smoke and debris began to pool around them, a chorus of coughs echoing off the rocks trembling with each subsequent blast.

He was so tired.

He wanted to sleep. Sleep, and maybe wake up a few hours later under a down blanket and wrapped up in warm arms. He wanted to sleep all the time now, even when he couldn’t let himself, and he had tried to hide it the best he could.

He wondered if Sothis had done the same. If she’d felt the same crushing weight that wasn’t really there but still felt as though it would rend his body in two. He wondered why he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It was probably something to worry about, something he needed to fix. But he couldn’t, because all he wanted to do was sleep.

There was no reason for Dedue to be holding on to Byleth so tightly. He wasn’t going to try and jump off anymore. Byleth thought if he tried, his legs might have crumpled under him and he would be trampled by the rest of the cavalry behind him. He wanted to pry Dedue’s heavy arm off his chest, adding even more painful weight, but he didn’t. Maybe Dedue needed something to hold on to, too. Byleth gripped the journal on his hip a little bit tighter.

The convoy started to slow as ground flattened further and the trees thinned into nothing. A field at the base of the mountains, where he’d ordered them to flee to. He regretted it. A field was a terrible place to die, an uncomfortable, indifferent place. He knew, he’d watched it happen. He wondered what it felt like to collapse on a patch of grass still sticky with blood and feel one lance after another rip through you like a pincushion, shattering any chance you had at a happy ending.

Byleth watched familiar faces begin to mill around, faces smudged with dirt and bruises and confusion. A white wyvern stained pink slithered closer to Dedue’s horse, and Byleth wondered if he’d remembered wrong. If all his runs had melted together, and he’d really picked the wrong class. Perhaps he’d taught the Golden Deer this time around, and fate was merely trying to correct itself.

Byleth heard voices, talking, a low conversation that was drowned out by the pounding in his head, the shattered panes of glass that rattled around in his skull. Dedue was speaking to Claude. Maybe he was speaking to Claude on Byleth’s behalf. And when he learned of Edelgard left behind, why the Blue Lions were missing their general, he turned to Byleth. He couldn’t focus on the muddy golds swimming around his vision. When Claude spoke, his words echoed through a tunnel that wasn’t there. He was calling for a medic.

Byleth wasn’t all that injured, he thought. But Mercedes ran over all the same, stitching together all the wounds he couldn’t feel while she spoke to Claude in her gentle voice. She looked around him, trying to spot someone who wasn’t there. Claude shook his head, Mercedes pressed a hand to her mouth and silently returned to her work.

Minutes ticked by, thunder booming in the distance. Everyone was restless. Horses paced in place, soldiers attempted to wipe their blades clean on the grass, leaving ugly red swathes against the green. Byleth felt more than one pair of eyes fall on him, watching him. Waiting for him to stand up and do his job. Once his wounds were managed, Mercedes stood, her parting glance filled with a sympathy he didn’t want. A couple new pairs of feet shuffled past him and came to rest at his back, another muddled conversation that he couldn’t hear. He tried to listen, he strained his ears even when his body didn’t respond to any orders to stand, to move. He knew he needed to work. Everyone was watching. Everyone was depending on him. Everyone wanted to live, everyone everyone everyone—

“Professor,” came from behind him, startlingly close to his ear. Seteth’s voice. Byleth tilted his head, feeling as though the weight in it would pull it off his shoulders. Seteth knelt by him, the deep blue fabric of his uniform stained with mud from the damp ground. Thick raindrops had begun to fall at some point, plastering their unnatural green hair to their foreheads. He waited until Byleth met his eyes, tired and lined with decades of stress, before continuing. There was a beat of hesitation, his mouth hanging open as he struggled to find the right way to begin. Small fangs peaked out over his lips, too small to notice normally. Byleth wondered distantly if he would grow them too. What did Seteth want to say?

“I’m sorry.”

Ah.

Byleth stared back at him, vaguely aware his own expression was as vacant as a board. He had a hundred things to say. A hundred other things he should’ve said. He tried to file through them, but each one seemed to disintegrate in his hands until all that came out in a hoarse whimper was the same thing pounding over and over and over in his head.

“I failed again.”

It rolled out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop it, and it felt as though it would bring his entire body down to the ground with it. Seteth’s brow furrowed, a look of deep concern on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Byleth beat him to it. “I won’t turn back time,” he mumbled, gazing with a blank stare at the ground between them. “I promised him I wouldn’t go back.”

“That was not what I had planned to say,” Seteth replied. There was another beat of hesitation while Byleth felt his gaze bore into whatever excuse for a heart he had. He must not have found the words he’d been looking for. Instead, he shook his head and clasped his arms around Byleth in a sudden, swift movement. Byleth was too startled to tug away, or maybe he was too tired. He was vaguely aware of a second set of arms, delicate ones, wrapping around his stomach from his back.

“I will not try to give you false hope, Professor— Byleth,” Seteth amended, his voice only loud enough to carry to Byleth’s ears. “But regardless of what happened, what may happen,” He trailed off again, a heavy silence weighing on them both. Byleth fought back a shiver, the rain seeping through the light fabric of his gown. Other voices floated around them, but none made an attempt to interrupt. Part of Byleth wanted them to. He didn’t like this conversation. He didn’t want to talk, he wanted to sleep.

Seteth’s arms tightened around him a little more, digging into a bruise Mercedes hadn’t gotten to tend to. “You must keep living.”

He should be crying, Byleth thought. That was a kind of line that should have brought tears to his eyes. Instead he only blinked raindrops out of his eyelashes. “I’m tired.”

“I know,” Seteth responded, in a quick, honest, painful way that took Byleth off guard. “It hurts more than anything in the world.”

Outliving the people you care about, it wasn’t something many people worried too much about. Byleth had tried to ignore that reality. That was a mistake, he’d known that. The moment his eyes started to glow and Sothis stopped talking to him, he should have started thinking about it. Even when his father died, he should have already accepted it. But he hadn’t. He had let it remain a distant problem he could easily fix. And it was something so meaningless when you could throw time back with a flick of the wrist.

He thought once everyone was safe, once he had a chance to live a happy life again, then he could start to think about that. But that had been taken from him too.

It wasn’t fair.

Flayn’s voice was muffled from where her face pressed into his back. “We need you still, Professor.”

It wasn’t fair. Why was he never allowed to grieve. Why was he never allowed to give up.

Byleth mumbled into Seteth’s shoulder, glazed eyes sweeping over the field of torn up soldiers, all of them with their eyes turned warily to the mountains. They didn’t have much time left, he was sure. He watched Claude talk to the Blue Lions, who were huddled up against Dedue. Felix was at the front of them all, and he was yelling. Sylvain was vainly clinging to his arm, trying to pull him back. Their faces were streaked with dirt, but it wasn’t enough to cover the red of their nose and eyes, the wet streaks tracking through the grime on their cheeks.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair they got to cry and he didn’t. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing.

“I don’t know what to feel,” Byleth admitted. Seteth pulled back at that, clasping his hands tightly on Byleth’s arms. It was just as well, he didn’t think he had control of his own body. He may have toppled over into the mud otherwise.

“That is not for anyone else to decide,” Seteth said.

“What if it isn’t sadness?”

“That isn’t always what it is. But whatever it is, you mustn’t let it consume you.” Before Byleth could protest, he was being hoisted to his feet. Flayn’s little hands kept him steady from the back, and suddenly he was feeling his feet sinking into the grass. They both stood there, keeping him on two legs for a quiet moment.

Byleth stared ahead, watching his kids. Claude had been overrun by his deer, and the Black Eagles had joined them. They looked as lost as the lions, wandering aimlessly around each other. He could see close-knit groups, shoulders shaking and arms clasped tightly around each other. Dedue had finally broken, his face pressed into Ashe’s shoulder, Ashe trying to hold him as best as his small stature could manage. Ingrid, Sylvain and Felix had fallen to the ground, huddled around each other. He could hear a soft whail escape where Felix had crumpled in on himself. Annette and Mercedes were trying to tend to their friends, frantically wiping at their faces as if no one would notice.

And all the while a monster was closing in on them. The hardest battle any of them would face, and they had to face it on unsteady feet, with tears in their eyes.

Byleth couldn’t pry his eyes away, so he closed them instead. His breaths came out in shallow puffs.

It was horribly, disgustingly unfair.

He was so tired. And he was so, so angry.

Seteth slowly slipped his hands off of Byleth’s shoulders, and Flayn moved to his side. Byleth wavered for a moment, before pushing past them both. He offered a soft thank you, a gentle ruffle of Flayn’s hair as he walked past her, unable to meet her face and acknowledge her puffy red-rimmed eyes. When he spoke again, the sound was ragged and hoarse. He tried to ignore it.

“We need to get everyone into formation. We’re losing time.”

A dozen heads turned to him, Felix’s face snapping up with a grimace. “Then why don’t you make more for us, _goddess_,” he snarled, albeit with a crack at the end. Sylvain frowned next to him, disapproving but not enough to say anything.

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can.” Felix scoffed, shoving himself off the ground and onto unsteady footing. He stumbled over to Byleth, shoving his finger against his chest to punctuate each word, “Turn back time and bring him back.”

“I can’t,” Byleth whispered. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. It’s been too long now.”

“Bullshit!” Felix screeched, balling up his fist in Byleth’s gown. Byleth couldn’t tell if Felix had begun to cry again, or if the rain had begun to beat against their faces harder. “How many times before now have you done it! Just fucking do it!”

“I don’t have control over it, Felix,” Byleth said, weakly prying at Felix’s hand. He could feel his voice begin to tremble, and he hated it. “It’s either back a moment, or back to the beginning.”

Felix tugged him down closer, peering up at him with cold eyes. He spoke slowly and clearly, the wind unable to carry his words away. “Go back to the beginning, then.”

“I can’t.”

Byleth heard the crack before he felt it, a sudden searing pain in his jaw that nearly sent him toppling sideways. He blinked back pained tears to see Felix draw his fist back, visibly seething as he snapped back at him, “You’re a fucking liar! You’ve gone through all this just to let him die at the last minute? You think that’s a happy ending for us?!”

“I promised!” Byleth cried back, still hunched over and cupping his face. It was too much at the moment, all the pain in his body flaring up at once and mixing with the pounding in his skull and the sickness in his gut. His words would get jumbled, unintelligible through thick tears and all the ugly emotions swirling around but he couldn’t stop himself from screaming back at Felix, stumbling forward and gesturing wildly at nothing. “I promised him I wouldn’t! If I go back this will never end and I can’t do it anymore! I can’t do it to any of you any more!”

Byleth straightened a little, swallowing back the acid creeping at the back of his throat and balling his hands up into fists at his side. “I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye, I wouldn’t be able to tell him I broke my promise.”

Felix’s frown deepened as Sylvain and Ingrid attempted to pull him away and back into the cluster of old students that had gathered around them. “A promise doesn’t mean anything from you anyways.”

“Maybe,” Byleth replied. He probably wasn’t wrong. What did a promise matter to someone he could make forget they’d ever sworn anything to begin with. “But Dimitri’s did, and he promised he would protect all of you. Everyone,” he paused, glancing at the distraught faces of the Black Eagles peering over his students’ shoulders. “I’m not going to break his promise either.”

Byleth quickly wiped at his face, smearing sweat and blood across the back of his hand, some of it fresh from Felix’s strike. Something about it caught his eye for a moment, something off color. Something he didn’t have time for. “Find your positions and prepare for battle now,” he ordered the army surrounding him. “Nemesis is coming.”

\---

The distant rumble could have been confused for thunder.

They were bound to intercept Nemesis’ forces, positioned between what were now the ruins of Shambhala and the nearest residential town. At least in that way, they were prepared. So when a scout came running, they knew how to move.

Byleth stood at the front, tucked between Dedue and Sylvain’s massive steeds and shields. The army was no longer broken apart by region, the colors of each army intermingling into an odd little rainbow. He could hear Sylvain and Hilda next to him chatter aimlessly, making quiet jokes that should have been lighthearted had they not been terribly out of place. Ferdinand stayed respectfully silent alongside an enemy retainer. Claude and Seteth hovered a ways above them, anticipating the moment they would take over as a commander in battle.

They were set up on the highest ground of the field. It was a perfect view to watch the dips of the ground begin to brown and shrivel, as if death was passing over the field like the shadow of a cloud. Something murky pooled in the withered holes, indistinguishable from swamp water and smoke at the same time. A sickly stench wafted over the army, the driving rain doing nothing to wash it away as soldiers gagged behind him. It was morbidly fascinating, in its way. Inhuman, unnatural, in a way different from Shambhala and entirely more fantastical. Watching the ground itself sear away was the image of a myth, not man.

Byleth stared at it all with indifference. He’d seen it once before. He prayed he would never see it again.

Whether that was because they would win, or because he would fall to the blade of a thief’s sword, he didn’t know. But he would accept it either way.

Perhaps the latter would hurt him less, in the long run.

The moment a line of figures became visible on the horizon, his fliers began their dive forward. Claude led a force of mounted archers and mages forward, whipping through the sky to make their first contact with the enemy. It was enough of a distraction to allow their cavalry and infantry to carefully navigate the poisonous swamp that had been born under their feet. Few real orders were called around them. Everyone had the plan ingrained in their minds the moment they accepted this possibility.

There would be ten generals interspersed amongst an army of dead soldiers, demonic beasts and Agarthans. There would be more soldiers than Byleth remembered, he knew. The more the Agarthans knew about the change in plans, the more they would prepare. It didn’t matter, they would have to fight anyways. There were the ten elites. You could pick them out by the glow of the false relics in their hands. Leave them to our generals, and everyone else should focus on the rest of the army. Kill them, and avoid Nemesis at all costs.

There had been a silent agreement amongst his students, those with crests, on who to fight. It was why he could spot Claude hanging back in the distance despite the rest of his fliers retreating back after their first lobby of arrows and magic. He was sweeping the field in search of a bow knight with the mirror image of his Failnaught, only to relent at the last minute when he had to barrel out of the way of a wayward blast of dark magic.

Byleth made his way to a clear part of the field, still sticking close to their first defensive line, when Claude landed next to him. He was nocking another arrow as he spoke, a hint of breathlessness already creeping into his voice.

“They look just like you described. And I could see some of them, the elites. There’s one on a wyvern and an aggressive one on a pegasus that nearly tried to dive-bomb a couple of us as we flew by.”

Byleth shifted his grip on the Sword of the Creator. “If you’re going to try to engage with Riegan, make sure you have someone else with you. You’re weak to arrows.”

“Reading everyone’s minds, huh?” His eyes were still focused on the incoming army, charging closer to the point they could hear the sound of metal armor ringing out as it collided with itself. Even so, a thin smile spread on his lips. “I’ll work on grounding that pegasus for Felix first, how about that? Sounds like he has some aggression he needs to get out.”

Byleth met his eyes briefly, and noticed how fake that smile was. “Keep each other safe.”

“Always,” he said, his expression growing a touch more genuine. “If I didn’t, His Princeliness would give me a hell of a lecture.” A sharp tug on his wyvern’s reigns sent Claude back up into the sky, and left Byleth to shrink away from the gale left behind by its wings. When he straightened again, he found his army charging forward and the first sounds of clashing weapons resonating around him. He’d been left alone. It hadn’t been a concern before, when he insisted that everyone fight astride an ally. It would all still go as planned, even if Byleth no longer had a lion at his back.

He didn’t realize when his body had begun to move forward, he hadn’t told it to. It took the sting of that poisoned water splashing up against his leg to center his attention, enough to pull back his sword and send it flying into the sunken face of a swordsman. He dipped away as the soldier fell, peering over the heads of a dozen rotting soldiers in an attempt to spot the flash of a dirty orange weapon. When there was nothing there, he took to cutting down the line in front of him instead.

His movements were slower than before. It was the exhaustion, a lethargy weighing on his shoulders. His feet didn’t glide over the grass the way they always had, he found himself unable to turn in time with the arcs of his sword to the point his attacks were clumsy and disjointed. His blade caught itself in the gaps of an axemen’s armor, throwing him off balance and nearly into the enemy’s blade. He twisted just fast enough to avoid his head being sheared off his shoulders, instead getting away with a deep gash splitting his cheek. He jerked the Sword of the Creator to the side, slipping off the armor and into the axemen’s neck.

The field around him had thinned somewhat by the time Byleth regained his bearings, a flash of pink grabbing his attention just as easily as the flares of light that lit up its surroundings. Hilda galloped in circles around a War Master, her Freikugel coming down with each pass and rebounding off its own carbon copy. Leonie was a short distance away on a patch of high ground, masterfully picking off any soldier creeping up around them both, allowing Hilda to fully focus on the shadow of Goneril seeking to throw her from her steed. A mage lurked behind a swordsman. In the same moment Leonie’s arrow whistled through the air and dropped the swordsman, Byleth’s Bolganone sent the whole patch of ground up in flames, a barrier between an advancing army and Hilda’s stand-off.

Byleth hesitated for a moment, an eye on the tremble of Hilda’s relic as it locked with Goneril once more, before dashing away. Another arrow sang past his ear, embedding itself into the eye of an archer aiming for his back.

Dimitri said to trust them. They would protect each other. No one would break his promise.

A shrill scream cut through the sound of blades clashing, and Byleth looked up to see Claude zipping away from a falcon knight in free fall, an Excalibur blade slicing through her steed. Just moments before Fraldarius came crashing to the earth, a massive Thoron bolt shot to the sky with a crack louder than the thunder ringing above them all, at the same time a blast of Aura flashed brighter than any bolt of lightning. Seconds later, Felix came dashing out of the frey, the tips of his hair singed from his own powerful magic. Annette was at his heels, pointing to the sky where Dominic hovered above the battle, her wind magic still flickering green around the palm not clutching Crusher. Byleth could see Rodrigue mounted where Fraldarius had been incinerated, his eyes tracking Felix until his son had fallen out of sight.

Felix’s glance as he passed Byleth was cold, and angry, and it was all Byleth could ask for. If that anger would keep him alive, he would accept it. Byleth carried on, cutting deeper into the center of the field.

He wheeled out of the way of an Abraxis that shattered the ground in front of him, hissing in pain as more of the poison water splattered against the bare skin. It melted away the end of the ribbon on his wrist, left deep red burn marks up his arms and legs. The very air itself that far into the field grew heavy, thick with poison and smoke, ash falling around them just as much as rain. A crash rattled the ground a second time, a great blast of equally dark magic erupting where the Abraxis had launched from. Gloucester collapsed for a moment, Hades Ω’s unnatural purple flames igniting the mage. Lysithea stood a distance away with a ferocious glare, Lorenz at her back, defending the small mage. Byleth ducked under a rush of Miasma ahead of him, and threw his blade through the offending mage’s torso, throwing their body into the dying dark flames beside him as he continued on and left the rest to the students who stayed behind.

The screeches of Demonic Beasts echoed around him. The Knights of Seiros had thrown themselves to the task of taking down the flying monsters and the Agarthans summoning them. Seteth’s wyvern squirmed above them all, its jaws locked around the neck of a beast while Seteth hung precariously from his saddle. Flayn’s healing magic lit up the wyvern again and again, sealing the wounds the dragon and her father earned just as soon as they would get them, keeping them in the air against all odds. The battalions they’d gathered, the ones still loyal to the Empress they’d lost, were bringing down the monsters ever slowly beside the monastery knights they had once trained to slaughter.

It was a wonder, one Byleth had barely a moment to acknowledge. In each moment his thoughts were consumed with simple movements. A duck, a dodge, a flick of the wrist to lob a blast of flame into the gut of a soldier. A slice of his sword down onto the head of the mage. Keeping his feet from falling into a murky depth that would singe it like burning coals. Keeping his breath going even as the air grew thick as water. Staying conscious, even if he was tired. So tired his feet dragged against the ground as he threw himself into more and more throngs of soldiers. He was so tired.

But he could wonder, in those fleeting moments. The flashes of color, old enemies fighting side by side, his students from a dozen different lifetimes guarding each other’s backs. The months of working to keep one man alive that had turned to four armies fighting for the lives of the entirety of Fódlan.

He wondered if the sight of it would have made Dimitri happy, despite the horror of it all. Finding a bit of joy in horror was something they’d both grown fairly good at, after all.

Byleth kept running.

He wasn’t fully sure where he was running to, only vaguely in the direction Nemesis would be waiting. He fully expected to be stopped, so when he was he wasn’t so surprised. He wasn’t surprised, but it didn’t stop the sudden twist of his gut as the color drained out of his face.

A Dark Knight clad in pitch black armor, stained up the arms with blood from Byleth’s allies the general had already felled. Their steed almost blocked it, but Byleth could see the erie flicker beside the horse, emitting a color that felt just a little bit wrong. A long, heavy lance in the shape of a curved talon.

He froze.

He knew they were on the battlefield, he knew the possibility of running into them. A part of him knew he would have to run into them, the strength of their crest making them particularly dangerous for any soldier or student. Just as Claude had promised to handle Riegan himself, the only archer on the field who could keep up with his forefather on horseback, Dimitri had warned off anyone challenging Blaiddyd besides him.

And now Byleth was alone, staring down that very ancestor. And the fear of their strength wasn’t what froze him. That he’d been prepared for.

It was the frigid blue eyes that met his, clear despite the shadow of their helmet.

For a moment, Byleth fought back the urge to apologize to them.

He heard someone cry out his name, distantly, as if shouting to him underwater. It cut through while the rest of the world felt like it had melted away into the acidic water surrounding them. He watched Blaiddyd’s movements in slow motion, a twist of the body and the raise of their lance too heavy for anyone else to wield with such ease. Byleth thought he was supposed to do something, to raise the Sword of the Creator. Yet all the lethargy that had hung over his head collapsed over him in a wave, and his blade hung heavy and useless at his side. He watched as the lance began its arc downwards as though it would cleave him in two like an axe, and perhaps it could, and perhaps he would let it.

He would have, had he not been thrown to the side with a sudden painful impact. He tumbled over the ground, splashing his arms and legs into the swamp and crying out involuntarily. A sharp pain radiated from his side, a rib or two likely broken from the strike. He coughed, and spittle mixed with blood and something green dribbled out onto the grass. It was strange, he thought, but he didn’t have much time to think. When his vision cleared long enough to look up, he could see the false Areadbhar buried in the ground where he had been standing.

A hand grabbed the back of his gown and hoisted him up, frantic apologies blurring into all the other sounds around him. “I’m sorry I’m so sorry Professor you weren’t moving and I needed to do something,” Ingrid stammered, tugging Byleth up against her pegasus, using its bulky body as a shield. She shifted Lúin in her hands, some of the blood on the shaft smeared away after launching Byleth away from certain death.

“Thank you, Ingrid,” was all Byleth could wheeze out. He looked back at Blaiddyd retrieving their lance from the ground, sending up a rain of dirt that obscured the blade as it careened into a nearby cavalryman with a sickening crunch. Byleth pushed away from Ingrid’s pegasus only to be tugged back again.

“You never freeze up like that,” Ingrid snapped suddenly, demanding Byleth’s attention. Though she wasn’t looking at him, her eyes only fixated on the shape of Areadbhar cleaving through a nearby battalion. “I can’t,” she hesitated, shaking her head and instead wrapped her arms around Byleth’s shoulders, lifting him off the ground with surprising ease. Her voice betrayed little strain as Byleth found himself thrown over the back of her pegasus, “I’m not letting you fight that one. Leave them to the Knights.”

Byleth struggled instinctively, opened his mouth to argue, but Ingrid’s mind had already been set. Her sharp eyes bored through him, told him without a word that he would lose that battle. That she, or Felix, or Sylvain, or Dedue would lose that battle, and with nothing to do with their own strength. Byleth relented, even as his stomach churned. He could hear nearby screams cut short by a lance through the throat. He could have faced them, he should have, and he didn’t. He wrapped his free arm around Ingrid’s torso, and her pegasus kicked off to the sky.

“I’ll take you closer to Nemesis,” Ingrid shouted through the wind. They sped over the field of soldiers, too fast to make out the blurry faces. The only things his eyes could focus on were the bright flashes of orange scattered around them. Too many, more than there should have been. Ingrid seemed to read his mind, “But you should keep your distance, too many of his generals are still standing.”

“What about Galatea,” Byleth asked, and Ingrid glanced back at him. A quick smirk made it to her face.

“Already taken care of. We should have recruited Dorothea earlier, Professor, she was incredible. I hardly did anything, and I’m a little disappointed my ancestor was so weak.”

There was a beat, and for a second Byleth found a small smile on his face too.

It didn’t last long. As they both turned their attention back to scanning the field, their smiles fell just as quickly as Byleth’s stomach. The enemy army was so much more overwhelming from the sky. He’d been right, their numbers had grown, they’d known. Bodies littered the ground, and too many wore their allies’ colors. Byleth tightened his grip around Ingrid unconsciously. A demonic beast wailed to their left, and Ingrid threw her pegasus to the side to dodge its extended talons. Another rider shot past them, a flash of bright colors. Petra, Byleth thought, pulling the beast off Ingrid’s tail. Another flier, an enemy of some kind, took its place. Byleth twisted around in his seat and threw the Creator Sword back, letting it arc through the air and slice through the wing of the enemy pegasus. It careened towards the ground, some archer shooting up at the collapsing heap. Byleth spotted another flier further in the distance fall to a blade of wind magic. A blue Faerghus banner rippled from the saddle as the rider and mount plunged downwards.

Byleth snapped his head back front before the rider connected with the ground, and realized how close they were to the edge of the field. The thick haze of poison had been left behind, and the stretch ahead of them had thinned. Their vision was clearer, clear enough to fixate on one particular general still within his throng of soldiers.

He was watching. He was focused on a Bow Knight a ways away, locked in a standoff against the white wyverned Barbarossa flitting through the skies above it. Dozens of arrows littered the ground around them. An errant one that missed the knight careened towards the still figure.

Cloudy, dark magic swirled around Nemesis, disintegrating the arrow before it ever had a chance to lodge itself in his armor.

Byleth couldn’t pry his eyes away from the man, or the sword in his hand.

He was the same, just as he had seen him those lifetimes ago. It was why Byleth couldn’t explain the sudden storm in his head, the way he held his sword in an iron grip and fought back the red searing across his vision. The first time he met Nemesis, he had felt a dull fear.

Now he felt an anger sharper than anything he remembered feeling before.

Ingrid’s voice was distant once more, unimportant next to the man wielding the false bones of an old friend. He might have missed her entirely, had it not been for her tone. Laced with confusion, hesitant even as she had to shout.

“Professor, is there a third enemy?”

...What?

No, there wasn’t. “There weren’t before, there shouldn’t be,” he said, eyes scanning around them. Blood began to pound in his head, the threat of something different and wrong looming over him, the idea that a new army was coming to decimate their already weakened forces.

“Nemesis’ soldiers are fighting something along the back lines,” Ingrid insisted, pointing forward with Lúin. He ripped his gaze from Nemesis and followed the direction of her lance to focus on something stranger. A unit of ancient soldiers were locked in combat, swords glinting in the light left by small bursts of magic from the surrounding mages. Through the chaos it was impossible for Byleth to tell what it was they were fighting, but—

“—It’s not an army,” Ingrid said, urging her pegasus lower to the ground. “I can’t really see, but I think,” she stumbled, pulling them out of the way of an arrow surging upwards, splitting her attention between attackers and the mystery enemy ahead of them.

“I think there’s only two of them,” she said.

The soldiers were being cut down in droves. Quickly, mercilessly. Byleth strained to see every body drop, every little detail obscured by embers and smoke and rain. One after another after another found itself cut down until the wall of bodies collapsed.

Each second ticked by slower than the last as Byleth watched two figures break through the line, sprinting across the field with broken, uneven steps, hand in hand and cloak billowing out behind them as wind and rain whipped into their faces.

The pounding in Byleth’s head grew faster, louder.

They were running towards Byleth’s army, towards Nemesis, towards him. One raised its hand, pointing to Ingrid on her pegasus, Byleth on its back. The other raised its weapon in just the same way, an arrow directed at them both.

Every other sound, every crack of thunder and clash of blades melted away until Byleth couldn’t hear a thing but his own breath and that incessant pounding, faster and faster. He could see it, glittery in the driving rain.

Caked in blood, the soft glow was muted. But it was real, familiar, the golden orange that pulsed like a living heartbeat in its wielder's hands.

Ingrid clasped a hand to her mouth, and silently held Lúin aloft as a beacon for them.

Byleth held the Sword of the Creator above them both.

Dimitri raised Areadbhar to the sky as he ran, Edelgard’s hand clasped tightly in his.

Ingrid needed no order to ground her pegasus, diving down in seconds. Byleth lept from its back with more grace than someone as exhausted and injured as he should have managed. His feet flew over the field, his tattered gown flying out behind him to match the cloak now draped over Edelgard’s small shoulders.

The closer he got the more he was convinced the figures would vanish. He would run and pass through them like a mist and find himself impaled on the end of an enemy blade. It was a trick. It was a lie. Byleth had never been a lucky enough man for miracles.

He threw himself forward, faster, rubbing rain and sweat out of his eyes long enough to see them, the details of their faces falling out of shadow. Smudged and bruised and bloody, with bright eyes that locked with his and desperate smiles that pulled at their faces even as a dozen soldiers chased them, lobbing arrows and fire at their backs.

Byleth closed his eyes without thinking. He was tired, so tired. If he were about to fall through the arms of a ghost, he really had no interest in waking back up.

Dimitri would never let him sleep where he wanted, though.

The sudden impact startled him, falling into a bundle of armor that struggled to catch him without a free arm to hold him with. If this was a kinder moment to the both of them, he would have been able to feel a pair of warm arms wrap around him and he would look up to see his smile, always a little bit hesitant and lopsided but full of warmth. They both could have burst into tears and held each other and Byleth could understand why Dimitri always had his hands on him, against his hand or in his hair because it was solid and it meant he was there and real.

He could have had a moment to realize nothing was over yet, no one had failed, and the one person that made him feel human was still alive.

Instead, a second pair of hands yanked him to the side, and he was thrown to face a field of incoming soldiers, Dimitri at one side and Edelgard hanging off his other. Out of the corner of his eye, Byleth saw Dimitri lean in close. Leaned in, moved, he’s alive, he could see him. He could see part of him, at least. The rest of his face was plastered with mud-caked hair, though his eye was visible, a bright blue shining and determined and alive he was alive. It took Byleth a beat to realize his eyepatch was missing, the deep scars Dimitri had left himself visible to match the younger ones that peaked over his lips like tusks, ones that distorted a touch as he smiled.

“I’m sorry we’re running behind, Professor,” he said, his voice soft and low and too lighthearted for what was ahead of them. “But it was my sister that made us late.”

A hoarse scoff cut off Dimitri’s words from Byleth’s other side. Edelgard was still fixated on the oncoming soldiers, her hand raised and gripping a dagger, one old and worn and wrapped in faded blue fabric at the hilt. “And you’re an embarrassment, if you think this is a good time for jokes.”

Dimitri laughed. “Oh, I am an embarrassment for so many more reasons than that.” Byleth felt something brush up against his ear, and suddenly Dimitri’s voice was close and cutting through the pounding in his head. “I promise I won’t leave you again, Byleth.”

“Are you sure this time?” Byleth asked. He winced inwardly, the sharp question not what he wanted to be the first thing said. But his regret didn’t change that he wanted an answer.

Dimitri smiled a little sadder, suddenly yanking both Byleth and Edelgard to the side and out of the way of a blast of Miasma. Ingrid shot past them in the same moment, back in the air and cutting through the closer soldiers with the speed of the trained knight she was. “Do you still have the journal on your hip?”

Byleth brought his hand to it without thinking. “Yes.”

“Then I never broke my promise,” Dimitri said. “I said I would always be by your side.” He flashed a grin, a quick little thing that was more devious than it should have been, before dashing away to meet the incoming soldiers.

“He is an absolute fool,” Edelgard muttered to his side, more hesitant to jump into the fray with nothing more than a dagger but too proud to ask for anyone’s protection. Byleth took advantage of his swords’ range and his own magic to keep closer to her.

“Yeah, he is,” Byleth agreed, whipping his sword to the side to send a mage flying. Edelgard shot out briefly to send her dagger into a distracted swordsman’s throat, before falling back to his side once more. Her limp was much more noticeable up close, as were the deep gashes on her limbs and the odd way her skin flaked and cracked as the remnants of armored plating fell away. “And he’s stubborn, too determined to protect everyone, and too easily driven by emotions.”

It was harder to keep track of Dimitri as he moved through the remaining soldiers without his cloak acting as a flag trailing behind him. Edelgard struggled to move around with it, but from the tattered hints of red fabric he figured she needed something thick to guard her limbs. Byleth fought back the desire to rush in and find Dimitri, to truly keep at his side. It was only the brief flashes of pegasus wings that kept him back, the knowledge that Dimitri had a knight guarding his back, a friend who wanted him alive as much as he did.

“You know,” Edelgard huffed, ducking away from a bolt of lightning as Byleth jumped forward and cut the offending sorcerer down, “I had always figured you and I to be more similar. But now that you describe him that way, I think you two really were meant for each other.”

“Thanks for the blessing,” Byleth replied, pulling them both back and watching as the enemies began to thin without more bodies taking their place. Dimitri and Ingrid were frighteningly efficient in despatching the enemy, now without Dimitri needing to keep to Edelgard’s side. “Or the insult.”

“Consider it both,” she said, gritting her teeth as she fell back further. He could see the frustration in her eyes, the way they shot from one enemy to another, calculating moves her body wasn’t capable of making.

Byleth frowned as he looked over her, noting the shaky way she kept herself upright. “Ingrid can get you off the battlefield, back to the medics—”

“—No,” she snapped, then softened her voice and looked away. “No. I,” she searched for the right words, something that wouldn’t betray the guilt even as it was etched on her face, “If my Eagles are fighting, I will be there to lead them.”

“You have no weapon.”

“Then have Ingrid bring me an axe, instead.”

Byleth opened his mouth to argue, only to be cut off by hooves slamming against the ground. Ingrid’s pegasus slid to a halt beside them, Dimitri trailing behind. The field had been cleared for the moment, no soldiers left behind to threaten them. It was just as well; though he tried to fake it, Byleth could see the lethargy in Dimitri’s run, the way he favored one leg and clutched Areadbhar in both hands. It was hard to pick out the dents on his black armor, but he looked worn and beaten just as Edelgard did.

Byleth wanted nothing more to send them away just as soon as they’d been reunited.

“How long have you been fighting,” Dimitri asked breathlessly, finally trotting to a halt and clasping a hand on Byleth’s shoulder. He immediately pressed a hand atop his, as if that would keep Dimitri from disappearing again.

“An hour, maybe,” Ingrid tried, though everyone’s sense of time had long since been destroyed. But from her vantage in the skies, she was better suited than Byleth at assessing the state of the battle. “I think about half of the generals have fallen, but we’ve been losing soldiers just as quickly. Everyone’s exhausted, unprepared, and,” she bit her lip, glancing between Dimitri and Edelgard, “Demoralized. It’s taking its toll on us, and I think they know. The remaining generals are ripping through our battalions.”

“Are they trying to turn it into a matter of endurance?” Edelgard asked, and Ingrid nodded.

“They’re monsters, or zombies, or something,” Byleth said. “They don’t get tired, they’ll outlast us.”

Dimitri frowned as they spoke, staring out into the distance, lost in thought. “Ingrid, could you carry the message that Edelgard and I are here and at the back of enemy lines?”

“I, yes Your Highness but,” Ingrid frowned, gesturing to Edelgard, “I should take her to a medic, shouldn’t I? And keeping you all back here, this close to Nemesis—”

Dimitri raised a hand to silence her, smiling apologetically. “I already know El will not allow that. I attempted to carry her as we were escaping Shambhala, and she nearly stabbed me with that dagger of hers.” Edelgard huffed softly at Byleth’s side. “And as for Nemesis, that is what I would like. It’s possible we may be able to bring other generals to us as they attempt to shield Nemesis, allowing everyone to push forward. We could surround him given enough time.”

“Only if you’re able to hold them off as three people!” Ingrid argued.

“We have no other choice, Ingrid. I’m not risking your life acting as a ferry for us.”

“But, Your Highness—”

“Ingrid,” Byleth interjected. In truth, he hated the idea as well. But he understood it would be impossible for all three of them to get back to their allies without risking Ingrid and whoever was with her being shot out from the sky. It was already risk enough sending her back with the message that their generals were alive. “We’ll keep each other alive. Just like all of you have been doing.”

She frowned deeper at that, staring at Byleth for a long moment before turning her attention back to Edelgard. She looked the empress up and down with no bother to hide her contempt and suspicion. Byleth could almost guess her next question before it came from her mouth.

“Yes, Your Highness, Professor. But before that, please answer me,” she looked back at Dimitri, staring up defiantly at her old friend. “Why should I trust Edelgard with your life?”

The question hung in the air for what felt like minutes. Edelgard stood silently but proudly, even as she clutched at the tattered cloak wrapped around her. Dimitri seemed to take the moment to think on it, searching for an answer that would satisfy Ingrid.

“Well, the obvious answer is that you already have, I suppose,” he said just loud enough for his voice to carry against the wind. “Had it not been for her, I would not have survived the missiles that collapsed Shambhala. Rather than attempting escape, she used that body to shield me, even if it risked killing her. But if you still fear that she may turn against us once more, well,” he trailed off, looking over at Edelgard, his eyes finding the dagger in her grip. “You know it is in my nature to be overly trusting.”

Ingrid shook her head as he spoke, sighing as she began to move her pegasus back. “Professor, please keep an eye on them.”

Dimitri laughed over Ingrid’s exhausted words. Byleth could only shrug, and nod. “They’re my students, it’s a part of the job description.”

It was enough to get Ingrid to kick off the ground, hovering for a moment of hesitation before speeding off. In the distance he thought he could see a white wyvern slide up next to her, before breaking off in a flash just a second later.

“You stayed behind because you knew Edelgard would protect you, didn’t you,” Byleth muttered, eyes still locked on the sky.

Dimitri chuckled again, quickly seeking out Byleth’s free hand to give it a gentle squeeze. “I told you in Shambhala,” he reminded, “You need to trust that we can take care of each other.”

Edelgard only shook her head. “It was a reckless gamble. What if I was not in a proper state of mind.”

“You were actively avoiding attacking areas with high concentrations of people,” Dimitri said nonchalantly. “Just because I am poor at clever tactics doesn’t mean I am oblivious.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Dimitri ignored her, and continued, “And you know what is truly a reckless gamble? Staying back behind a whole enemy army as three people, with nothing between us.”

“Well, I do not know if you wish to die so badly,” Edelgard announced, moving to shed her cloak. “But I have no plans to die here no matter what foolish position you put us in. Now take your cloak back, I cannot fight properly in it.” She reached behind Byleth and attempted to shove it at Dimitri, paying no mind to the tattered remnants of her dress and the chill of the rain on cracked and bleeding skin. “I didn’t even want it to begin with.”

He took the bundle of fabric a bit awkwardly, cocking his head at Byleth. “Was she this difficult when you taught her?”

“A little bit,” he conceded, moving to help him clip his cloak back on. Byleth absently noticed that even though his eye patch hadn’t survived the escape, the ribbon he’d tied Dimitri’s hair back with was still there, fluttering behind him.

“Will you both stop speaking as though I am not here?”

“Dimitri, did you hear something?”

“No, I fear not.”

“I should have left you to die,” Edelgard muttered, before standing straight and rigid, her focus locked somewhere far ahead. “Something is coming.”

Byleth looked ahead, and sure enough a silhouette began to form through the rain. Something had broken the back lines, completely alone, a single figure on horseback gripping a heroes’ relic in one hand.

Dimitri shuddered, long before he should have seen who it was. Byleth took a step in front of him without thinking.

“I’ve already run into this one,” Byleth said, watching Blaiddyd stalk closer, waiting for the moment they would break into a gallop. “They must have followed Ingrid’s pegasus this way.”

“Is that Areadbhar,” Edelgard asked, the one person left wholly out of the loop, looking between the Dark Knight and Dimitri as if to confirm Dimitri still had his own lance in hand.

“I would believe so,” Dimitri remarked, calmly stepping around Byleth. “Byleth, please keep Edelgard safe.”

Before Byleth could snap back at him to wait, he was already darting forward to meet the knight charging back at him.

Dimitri made the first move, thrusting Areadbhar at the horse’s legs rather than its rider, an attempt to buckle it and bring them down to equal footing. The blade came close, scraping against hide only to crash into the shaft of its twin. Dimitri stumbled with the sudden halt of momentum, and Blaiddyd took the moment to pull their lance back and send it careening into Dimitri’s side, sending him flying across the field. A faint blue glow flickered around Blaiddyd’s hands, the remnants of an activated crest fizzling away just as quickly as it could appear.

Byleth threw the Sword of the Creator forward, whipping the blade between Blaiddyd and Dimitri, halting their attempt to charge and trample him and giving Byleth and Edelgard a chance to run back to Dimitri’s side. He pushed himself off the grass with a wince, clutching the side of his armor where the lance had caused it to crumple like tissue.

“That hurt,” he coughed, pressing a hand and pulling away a small smear of blood. “That hurt a lot.”

“Then don’t run off on your own this time,” Byleth huffed, keeping at Dimitri’s side. “I’ll focus on dismounting them. Edelgard, can you keep them distracted?”

With nothing more than a nod, Edelgard shot forward towards Blaiddyd, as fast as her limp would let her. Dimitri and Byleth lept after her, and the moment she ducked to the side and drew Blaiddyd’s gaze with her, Byleth sent his blade flying. The whiplike crack resonated as it sliced to the side, cutting a deep gash into the mount and sending it bucking back, Blaiddyd struggling to keep the panicked horse steady. Another crash resonated as Areadbhar connected with Blaiddyd’s relic, Dimitri throwing all his weight into the attack. Another crash, and another and another sounded as the two Areadbhars impacted one after another until Blaiddyd finally pulled away, forcing his horse back as the rider nearly slid from their saddle.

As Dimitri fell back, Edelgard shot forward once again, darting faster than Byleth had ever seen her, no axe or armor to weigh her down. In a flash her dagger moved to slash at whatever she could reach, and the horse stumbled back into Byleth’s sword, the blade slicing through its torso in a spray of sticky red. He flicked his sword back in the other direction, back and forth again and again, forcing Blaiddyd back and cutting down his mount until it crumpled forward, its spindly black legs cut through to tendon and bone and bucking its rider into the mud.

Dimitri charged forward the moment Blaiddyd fell to the ground, raising Areadbhar to impale the knight only to be launched backwards once again, somersaulting over himself by the force of Blaiddyd’s lance swinging into him from below. He’d hesitated, just a second too long. Byleth could see it, they were all slow. Edelgard’s attacks were weak feints, relying only on the loss of weight on her shoulders while her legs struggled to keep her upright. Byleth was relying more and more on the range of his blade while his breathing grew further labored. Dimitri’s movements were slower, more telegraphed, like he was thrown around by the weight of his own weapon.

Blaiddyd was on their feet now, swinging Areadbhar as though it was hollow inside.

Byleth shot forward once more, ignoring the pain radiating throughout his body, the way his arms protested as he raised his sword once more, throwing himself and his weapon in the way of Blaiddyd. The Sword of the Creator curled around the end of Areadbhar, but just as Byleth moved to yank it out of their hands, he felt himself lifted off the ground, thrown up into the air only to land hard on the ground with a hard thunk. The pain of the landing fuzzied his vision, only able to see a vague reddish blur zip past Blaiddyd. She was keeping more of her distance, unable to risk a direct blow to nothing but tattered fabric. And they knew, they were beginning to ignore her. Even as Edelgard drew closer and closer, bolting by them like a bird, they did nothing but bat her away, completely focused now on the young man struggling to stay standing, gripping his lance like a lifeline.

Byleth pushed himself to his feet, barrelling his body forward just as Dimitri barely blocked Blaiddyd’s attack, his own lance shuddering under the weight. Byleth swung his sword forward and they blocked it just as easily. Dimitri thrust Areadbhar forward, and again it failed. Byleth pulled back his blade and swung it in one piece, close enough now to see Blaiddyd’s grimace. Not fear or concern, but annoyance as he swatted back at Byleth. It became a clumsy dance, one attack after another blocked and blocked again. Edelgard circled around all of them, darting forward only for Blaiddyd to strike her across the face with a sick snap, sending her to the ground as blood pooled from her nose. Byleth slashed again, so weakly Blaiddyd merely raised an armored gauntlet and let the blade ricochet off the metal plating. He tried again, and again, and suddenly a hand grabbed the tip of his blade, no mind paid to the way it sliced through Blaiddyd’s leather glove and into their skin.  
They snarled, something inhuman and coarse, and spun, sending their boot into Byleth’s chest, flinging him back with already damaged ribs shattering on the impact. He couldn’t hear anything other than his own retching, the taste of iron in his mouth as blood trickled over his lips. Another loud impact resonated around him, and when he looked up Dimitri was on the ground again, his wielding arm pinned down by Blaiddyd’s foot while the other pried desperately at their leg. He didn’t have enough energy to even use his crest, while his own ancestor’s power flickered unabated about them.

Areadbhar’s twin was raised above Dimitri, its twisted claw pointing down at his throat.

Something flashed in the sky far above them, a deep purple glow illuminating the field like a strange bolt of lightning.

Byleth tried to scream, gagging on the blood still pooling in his mouth.

Instead of a scream, there was a roar.

A thunderous screech reverberating around them all, deafening them to anything else. They all looked up, seeking the source of the sound. What else was it they could do?

Blaiddyd themselves looked up to see the great white beast flying past the mountains of Shambhala, diving towards the field with fire flickering in its open maw. They were transfixed for a moment, as was Edelgard, as was Byleth, unable to comprehend the dragon that had manifested from nowhere. Just a moment. That was all that was needed.

Dimitri threw all of his weight upwards, a flash of blue enveloped him, and he flung Blaiddyd off of him. They stumbled backwards, their rotting face flicking back between Dimitri and the vision in the sky. At the last moment they settled on Dimitri, desperately batting away an attack now that he was on his feet. Byleth forced himself forward, wobbling in place, willing himself forward only for Edelgard to suddenly be grabbing at him, grabbing at his sword.

“Raise it, raise it like you did earlier, fling it up or something!” She ordered, purple eyes wide and desperate, knowing something he didn’t.

Byleth could only look at her in confusion, his breathing coming out in haggard wheezes where his voice failed to come out at all.

“Use your eyes, you foolish teacher!” she screamed. _“Can you not see who that is?!”_

Oh.

Right. Of course it was.

Byleth looked back to the sky, gritted his teeth and flung his blade to the sky. The Sword of the Creator whipped across the sky like a great orange ribbon, a banner to announce to the world where they were.

Perhaps a foolish move, in retrospect. Even more so as he watched the Immaculate One’s form bathe them briefly in shadow, then fly over them as if they were nothing but ants scampering across the dirt.

He didn’t know what he expected. A magical blast that would destroy only Blaiddyd, and perhaps Nemesis while she was at it? Instead, Rhea, inexplicably Rhea, flew to the main battle field, crashing into Demonic Beasts and enemy fliers that made vain attempts to bring her down.

It was too much, too much was going on. Rhea, why Rhea. How? The pounding in Byleth’s head was louder than ever before, a nauseating feeling of stone being beaten into his skull. He turned his attention back to Dimitri, who was locked in battle with Blaiddyd, their lances wheeling about and crashing together in an unending rhythm. Dimitri’s heels dug into the dirt below him as Blaiddyd desperately tried to beat him back. He wouldn’t last long. He wouldn’t, Byleth needed to do something, he needed to do something but his body was screaming and his head was screaming and he couldn’t scream and he needed to move—

_“Lady Edelgard!”_ It wasn’t a distraction like before, Dimitri and Blaiddyd remained locked in combat, the flurry of metal blurring the short space between them. But it was odd enough, out of place enough to turn Byleth’s head.

A young man was hunched over in the distance, bruised and beaten and ragged, leaning his weight on a twisted, boney axe. Dark magic flickered in his hands, so much of it that it seemed to sear up his arms, as though his own body was rejecting its use.

Byleth had never seen Edelgard so pleased with such a sight.

They didn’t exchange a single word more as Edelgard ripped Aymr from Hubert’s hands, the axe bursting to life in her grip, her battered body whirling around and flying across the distance between him and Dimitri.

It was a brief moment that Byleth could see her face, but what was written across it was an ecstatic, bloodthirsty joy. Byleth recalled seeing it before, he thought.

Only half related or not, she could look so much like her brother when she tried.

Edelgard brought Aymr down hard on Blaiddyd’s back, the strength of the axe enough to break through plates of armor even without the help of a crest. The attack threw Blaiddyd forward, and Dimitri brought Areadbhar swinging hard down on their lance, ripping the relic from their hands and sending it clattering to the ground. Blaiddyd howled as another blow to the back brought him to the ground, Aymr’s blade wet with blood when it came back up for another swing. Dimitri used his free hand to rip Blaiddyd’s helmet from their head, revealing a tangled mass of pale blonde and grey.

Dimitri brought down Areadbhar in a single thrust through Blaiddyd’s neck, bringing with it the sound of bones snapping and blood spraying around them.

Blaiddyd’s gurgled scream was cut short, just as Areadbhar pulled back and Aymr came down, severing their head from their body.

Byleth shuddered, blinking away a memory.

Dimitri was the first to fall back, digging Areadbhar into the ground and using it to prop himself up. For the first time since they’d reunited, he let himself look as haggard as he must have felt. It took him a few moments to recognize the axe in Edelgards hands, his head suddenly whipping around to look for where it must have magically appeared. Byleth only dragged himself closer, frantically wiping the blood from his lips before Dimitri could notice it.

Edelgard hunched over her own relic, slowly catching her breath as her retainer made it to her side.

“Hubert?” Dimitri exclaimed, as much as he could despite his breathlessness. “How on earth did you get here?”

Edelgard passed a glance at her weary retainer, who looked terribly out of place on a battlefield outside of his robes, even if he looked as beaten up as the rest of him. They exchanged a look, and Edelgard allowed herself a soft chuckle as she looked back at Dimitri, a smug, knowing look in her eyes. Almost as if she had expected this to play out as it had. Whether that was brilliant planning or blind trust in her own men, Byleth couldn’t say.

“Did you not see Rhea fly above you, or were you too busy?”

“So that,” he muttered, working through everything that had transpired in only a few moments, “That was truly her? But how is she here?”

“Who’s jails was she trapped in?” Hubert replied, unimpressed. Byleth watched the way he gently touched the strange scarring that coursed up from his hands.

“You brought her here?” Dimitri asked. “But the Agarthans, when they took El, surely they imprisoned you as well?”

Hubert scoffed, not before making a subtly disgusted face at Dimitri’s nickname for his empress. “Her name is Edelgard, for one thing. And for the other, I have been working alongside the Agarthans from day one. I of all people would know the weaknesses in their poor excuse for prisons.”

The smallest frown crossed Dimitri’s face, but he allowed Hubert to continue. Byleth wordlessly pressed a hand to his back and listened.

“The hardest part was securing Aymr, and warping that damn dragon here. She began to ransack our fortress the moment we escaped, she had no interest in returning to a human form long enough for me to do my work.” He spoke bitterly, and once more Byleth’s eyes were drawn to his arms.

“You’ve been overusing your magic,” he said softly. “You need a healer.”

“We all do,” Edelgard responded, a stern eye on Byleth now.

“I can,” Byleth started, pushing himself off Dimitri from where his weight was sinking further and further into his side. “I can do it.”

Byleth took a step forward, willing faith magic to come to his hands. In the very same moment, Byleth’s entire world went fuzzy, his feet failed to move as though they’d been caught in tar. The next thing he knew, he was being held up in Dimitri’s arms, leaning back against his chest. Worried faces peered down at him as he realized he’d ended up collapsed on the ground.

Goddess, he was tired. He was tired and he didn’t know why. He had only taken one real injury, that kick. There was no reason for him to feel as though he had just been ripped apart by an entire army, there was no reason to still taste iron bubbling up at the back of his throat. Why was he so tired?

Dimitri’s voice was distant. “Byleth, Byleth can you hear me?”

“Mm.”

“We need to get him to a medic, is there any way for us to get him back to a healer?”

“If I try to use my warping magic any more it could kill me,” Hubert stated bluntly. “And I would not know where on the field to move him to.”

“No one is going to be able to reach us with Nemesis in the way,” Edelgard added. “We can only hope that the rest of the army begins to encircle him, and perhaps we can meet with them there.”

Dimitri frowned deeper, and Byleth did his best to focus on that. The rest of the world was beginning to haze over again, so he concentrated on him.

“He will be a target the moment he comes anywhere near Nemesis. If we arrive too early, before his generals have been defeated, he could attack us without any hope for us to defend ourselves.”

Byleth frowned a little bit himself. There was a bad feeling in his chest, tearing at him. He was supposed to be protecting these people. Why were they hunched over him, speaking like he was an injured child?

Edelgard glanced at Blaiddyd’s corpse mere paces away, then back at the retainer at her side. “Do you trust your army?”

Dimitri’s brow furrowed as he thought over Edelgard’s words. “Of course.”

“Then believe they could do better work than two injured students and their professor dancing around your ancestor.”

There was a long pause. A very long pause. Too long of a pause, Byleth realized.

It was silent, unnaturally silent, until something began to shake him. A low rumble came behind him, above him. The haze had gotten thicker, and Byleth’s eyes slid from one indistinct shape to another. He was shook again, pain shooting into his shoulders where something clawed into him, and it caused his body to jerk. And cough, and retch, and suddenly something warm and sticky came rolling down his chin.

It was dark and he was tired, and Dimitri’s arms were all he’d wanted to fall asleep in for so long. There was screaming in the distance, he thought. But they’d be fine. He just needed a moment of quiet. Just one.

\---

_ How long are you going to keep lying to yourself? _

What was that?

_ They’ve all accepted it. Why can’t you? _

Accept what?

_ You’re so stubborn. You’ll wear their gifts, nod along to their sentiments, but when suddenly faced with reality you’ll reject it. _

Who is that?

_ You thought you’d accepted it, didn’t you. You tricked yourself into believing it. You even let yourself use your power as long as it changed nothing. _

Let me sleep.

_ But you haven’t. You know it. The moment you were faced with the reality of being alone once again, you rejected it. You desired death over life. _

I don’t want to be alone.

_ Then you can die here, if you want. Let your power eat away at your body rather than accept it. Pretend you’re human, as if it ever mattered to them to begin with. _

It’s not my power.

_ It is now. _

Who are you?

_ You already know that, idiot. _

\---

The world was shaking again, when Byleth opened his eyes. He was curled up against Dimitri’s chest as he ran, carrying him with Areadbhar balanced awkwardly in the crook of his arm. Smears of green stood out against the black of his armor, wet strands trailing from the metal to Byleth’s lips.

They were moving, stalking across the back of the field as fast as their exhausted legs could carry them. Edelgard and Hubert were keeping pace to the side. The sounds of battle echoed in the distance, growing louder with every step.

They were moving towards the enemy, towards Nemesis.

Byleth’s voice bubbled up out of him, slurring as his head lolled to the side. The world was still blurry, but he could make out figures, fighting far away. “Dimitri, lemme, lemme down.”

Dimitri jolted suddenly, startled by the sudden sound. “Byleth?”

“Lemme down,” Byleth insisted.

“Oh thank the goddess,” he breathed. Byleth thought maybe, he was supposed to make fun of him for that. But it was a habit they all still had. “We’re going to bring you closer to the front lines, we’re going to find you a healer. But I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

“‘Sss my job,” he responded, wiggling limply.

Dimitri frowned, a deep concern in his eye, a latent panic that he had no idea what to do in the moment. “I can’t do that, beloved. You’re not coherent, and you,” he hesitated, his gaze flicking back and forth between him and the sight ahead of them. “We don’t know what’s happening to you.”

“We’re going to be in Nemesis’ line of sight soon,” Edelgard called out. “Be prepared to move, fast.”

Dimitri nodded, and Byleth was pulled just a little bit closer, his neck straining to be able to see forward while the rest of him was pressed against metal, his own sword digging into his side from where it had been reattached to his hip.

A great fiery whip was streaking across the sky. It was the first thing Byleth could make out. Then the man attached came next, a mountain towering over those surrounding him. He shouldn’t have been able to move as quickly as he did, but as flashes of magic flew by he stepped out of its way with ease. Those that he didn’t avoid fizzled out within the thin magic barrier that shielded him. Lines of soldiers dressed in dark Agarthan black surrounded him, a barrier from the banners of blue and gold and red that peered above them.

Byleth watched the Dark Creator Sword slice through the gut of a wyvern flying above, the sword flying in a graceful arc. They were close enough that he could see the individual links of the blade, the subtle shifts in color that betrayed its identity. They were so close, it could all be ended in an instant.

A sharp pain cut through Byleth’s chest, like a hand had punched through his chest and tried to crush his heart. He slapped a hand to his mouth in order to muffle his cry, to not draw attention to them.

It didn’t matter. Maybe it wasn’t his cry at all, maybe it was just his own presence. Maybe he’d felt the same pain, his great body hunching over and grasping at something on him they couldn’t see. Either way, it didn’t matter. Nemesis looked back anyways.

It happened all in a second. The world didn’t slow down this time, there was no lance to watch fall. It was nothing but sounds, in such quick succession he couldn’t make sense of it.

The crack of a whip and screeching metal, a scream above him, and the sound of shattering glass.

\---

_ Again with this, you never learn. _

Byleth blinked, disoriented now that he found himself on his feet. He’d lost his sandals at some point, somehow. The ground was hard, flat and cold. Everything around him was cold, but not with the wind and the rain. Was he not just being carried?

Everything around him was pitch black. There was no battlefield. No Nemesis. No Dimitri, or Edelgard. Byleth looked down at himself, and couldn’t recognize the arm held out in front of him. Slender and pale, without any of the scars he knew. He flexed his hands, saw the way his nails came to a tip like claws. He used them to pick delicately at something flaking on his skin. He pulled away a scale.

_ Stop that. _

The sudden noise startled him, echoing everywhere around him to the point he was unable to find it’s source. His little jolt sent a bundle of messy green hair into his face, that he frantically swiped at only to scratch himself with his own claws. Were they his? Where was he?

_ If you continue to ask questions like that, I will force you back to be decapitated. _

The voice sounded familiar, and yet not. Light and childlike and perhaps a bit shrill in one breath, low and soft in another, overlaid on each other in a strange chorus.

Although, perhaps it was all familiar. He was only confused as to why his own voice was talking back to him. And why she spoke with it in tandem. Byleth opened his mouth, expecting his voice to come out gurgled and hoarse as it had been. It came out startlingly clear instead, though not like it mattered. The voice could hear him whether he spoke aloud or not, he supposed.

“Sothis?”

The voice sounded a bit exasperated. _If that’s what you’d like to believe. _

Byleth bit his lip in thought, then winced when a fang bit through the skin. He was tired of tasting blood. He quickly wiped it away with his thumb, only to pull it back and see green.

“I thought you were gone.”

_ I certainly would like to be, I am horrendously tired. But someone keeps rejecting me. _

“What do you mean,” he asked. “I accepted you just like I always did, four years ago. Or have I been in this void the whole time?”

_ I should have kept you in that void, after everything you’ve put us through._ The voice sighed. _You accepted my power. Not me. _

“Is that why I feel like I’m dying?”

_ It’s why your body is dying, yes. Did you simply think yourself narcoleptic? You can take my power and use it and claim you’ve accepted it, but the rest of you continues to reject it. It’s too much for a mortal body to hold, and now it’s eating you away. You would have discovered the same in time had you not kept turning it back. Now you get to make your decision in the middle of a battlefield. Idiot. _

Byleth’s eyes widened a touch. It did nothing to help him see the being speaking to him. “I’m still mortal?”

_ That’s the decision, isn’t it? Always getting to choose your fate, aren’t you? A little bit unfair to the others, I would think. _

“What am I choosing?”

_ Humanity or immortality. _

Byleth would have thought his heart skipped a beat if he didn’t know better. “What do you mean?”

_ You can reject me fully, or embrace me fully. No more of this in-between. If you embrace me, you will be immortal. Your human heart will never beat. In exchange, you can use my powers freely, as you wish, for the rest of eternity. _

There was a pause. The voice continued.

_ If you choose humanity, then my power will eat away the goddess’s heart in your chest and disappear. You will lose control over time. Unfortunately, that means time will not turn back when you leave here, and Nemesis’ blade will kill you, and likely the young man still holding onto you. _

Byleth swallowed. “It might not. And there’s still a chance we’d all survive, and Nemesis will be defeated.”

_ Of course. No one can control the future, not even a goddess. But that blade stopped an inch from your neck. You will die. _

Another pause, long and empty.

_ But isn’t that what you wanted? To die with your loved one? To die at all? _

Byleth’s voice was weaker this time. “I don’t know.”

_ You hate me. You want to be human. _

“I don’t know.” Byleth pressed his hands to his ears, kept them there even as he realized his ears came to a point. He knew it wouldn’t stop the voice, but he needed to try. “I don’t know what I want. I just,” he stammered, “I just don’t want to be alone.”

_ You’ll die surrounded by friends and family, you won’t be alone. Dimitri will go with you. _

He bit down on his lip again, focusing on the sharp pain. He imagined that same pain rending him in two. Feeling his body go limp, finally getting to sleep. Dimitri lying down beside him, still caught up in each other’s arms. Going first, so he would never have to watch Dimitri die ever again. He would never watch anyone else die ever, ever again, and he could finally rest.

_ Is that your choice? _

Byleth jolted again. His claws dug into his skull.

Are you choosing to reject me and take back your humanity?

Was he?

Was that his choice? Was that what he wanted?

He thought so.

He thought so, and that was why what came from his mouth startled him as much as it did.

“No.”

_ No? Why not? _

Why not? He was tired, he wanted to sleep. Why not sleep?

“I told him it didn’t matter if he wasn’t human. He was, I knew, he was more human than anyone I ever knew and just as weak as one. But even if he wasn’t, it didn’t change anything.”

_ You love Dimitri very much. Don’t you think he’d like to rest too? You’ve taken that from him again and again. Your lives have been too hard, why not let him rest with you? _

Why did he keep forcing Dimitri to live? Again and again and again he forced him to live, even if his life was living hell.

“Because he said he would live. He promised he would protect everyone. I won’t let him break his promise.”

_ He promised to always be by your side. One day he will die and abandon you. Isn’t that breaking his promise too? _

“No.”

_ Why not? _

Why not?

“Because,” he said. And despite everything, a small smile worked its way to his lips. It pulled at him the same way his words fell from him without his permission. He hoped that meant they were truer than the voice arguing inside him.

_ Because? _

“Because he gave me this dumb notebook. And it says a lot of dumb, gushy things about me in it. Which is basically him, dumb and gushy and sweet and loving and kind. So as long as I have it, he’ll be by my side.” Byleth reached for his hip, only to realize the journal wasn’t there. He wasn’t all that surprised. “And even if I lose it, he’ll still be there, I think. He has a thing for ghosts, you know. He’ll probably just haunt me. He’ll laugh at me, and try to tell me he still loves my smile, and he’ll play with my hair, and he’ll nag at me for falling asleep in random places even if he can’t carry me back to bed.”

_ What about the others, then? Your students. One day you will be truly alone. _

“Rude of you to forget about Flayn and Seteth and Rhea,” he said, the smile still there. “But they’ll all still be there. Some of them will leave kids, and I’ll watch over them until they leave their kids. And for those that don’t, they’ll leave something else behind. Their work, or their dreams, their hope for a better world. And I can help continue it, and they’ll be with me, telling me I’m doing it all wrong and they would do it much better.”

He laughed softly at the thought.

_ What if it drives you mad, like Rhea? _

“Edelgard would get terribly mad at me, then. I couldn’t give her the satisfaction of being right.”

_ She would rather you take back your humanity. _

“And maybe in another life, I would have listened to her. Unfortunately, I taught the Blue Lions this time.”

_ And you don’t think you might break down in the end? Use your power to turn it all back again? _

“No,” he said quickly, easily. “I promised not to. And I think I’d very much like to see them all finally grow up. I want to see who gets married. I want to see who becomes knights and scholars and rulers I know will be the best Faerghus and Adrestria and the Alliance will have ever seen. I want to see Duscur rebuilt, the borders broken down around Fódlan, the church torn down and rebuilt into something better. I want to see them all grow up, and live, and die knowing they made this world a better place in their own way.”

_ You want to reject humanity? _

“Yeah,” Byleth said, and laughed again. “Four, five years never stopped anyone from calling me Professor. Somehow I doubt that’ll change with being a god, or goddess, or whatever.”

Silence stretched for a long while after his words. It was broken, gradually, with a soft giggle.

_ What now, then, Professor? _

“I should probably head back. There’s something I’d like to try. I almost got the hang of it this time around, I think I can do it now.”

_ Good luck. _

“One last thing, before I go.”

_ Yes? _

“You’re not Sothis, are you?”

Another giggle floated through his mind, more distant now.

_ No more than you are. _

\---

He didn’t feel all that different when he came back.

He wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to feel, given none of it had ever happened before.

He didn’t have a whole lot of time to dwell on it, but he did notice a feeling of disappointment. Could anyone blame him? You’re told you’re officially a goddess now and then you go back to your noodly, muddy body with nothing but a bit of a headache. A bit of a let down, really.

He’d managed to set them back about a minute. He didn’t need much more than that, though he had a feeling he could have gone back as far as he wanted. Maybe that was what was different.

“Dimitri, can you let me down?”

He felt Dimitri jump, startled by his sudden coherent speech.

“Byleth? Oh thank the goddess,” he breathed, and Byleth stuck a finger up against his lips to quiet him.

“I’m gonna really need you to break that habit soon. Could you let me down? I can walk.”

“What?” Dimitri was hesitant, only clutching Byleth closer to him. “You, just a moment ago you were delirious. And you’ve been coughing up blood, or,” he frowned deeper. “I think it’s blood?”

Byleth wiped his mouth and confirmed that his blood, indeed, had now completely turned green. A little bit gross, he had to admit. He wasn’t sure if that was a Nabatean thing or just a Goddess thing, he’d have to ask Seteth later. “Sorry, I got it all over your armor.”

“Byleth what’s happening to you?” he asked, eyes flicking up and down him as if he’d be able to pin down whatever ailment was making Byleth ooze the wrong color.

Byleth patted Dimitri’s chest, smiling best he could through the bruising on his face. “I finally made a little choice, I can tell you all about it later, ‘though you might not believe me. Now can you put me down? I promise I can walk, and I need your help to kill Nemesis.”

Dimitri stared at him for a long while, slowly relenting as he set Byleth down. He wobbled for just a moment, getting his bearings, thanking the universe that he had his sandals back. Hilda would have killed him if he’d lost them already. Dimitri clasped his shoulder to help steady him.

“Hey Dimitri, before we get going, can I say something?”

“Anything,” he replied, squeezing his shoulder a little tighter.

“I’m glad I picked your class first,” Byleth said, and smiled brightly at him. “I’m glad I chose you.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened, a bit in confusion, a bit in surprise, a bit in something else. His mouth hung open to respond, but nothing seemed to come out. Byleth only laughed, grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“I love you too, my lion.”

“Byleth?!” Edelgard shouted across from them, breaking the moment.

“I thought you were dying!” Hubert added next to her.

“I got better!” Byleth ginned, waving back before releasing Dimitri’s hand and beginning to sprint forward. His feet felt lighter than they’d had in weeks. “Stay back behind me for a bit, and listen for my order! Just trust me!”

Both Edelgard and Dimitri shouted something in protest, but Byleth ignored them. He was already lost in thought, trying to feel for any magic in his body that felt new, different, something he could pull on that wasn’t there before.

He’d done it once before. Not well, not even remotely well, but it had brought him here. It had given him this chance, that extra time. He woke himself up two years early, and that was all he’d needed.

He’d stopped time on himself. Just himself. It was possible to stop time on single objects, even with what uncontrolled power he’d had before.

Nemesis was growing closer, and again Byleth felt the dull pain in his chest, and Nemesis buckled. The Dark Creator Sword collapsed back to the ground, and Byleth felt that hate again, more intense and vivid the second time. He hated Nemesis. He hated anything that would try to hurt his family, to manipulate them, to make their lives a hell they didn’t deserve.

He was done with seeing that.

Byleth closed his eyes just as Nemesis turned to face him. He threw out his arms, magic igniting in his palms while the same sounds came, one after the other. The crack of a whip, a scream, more distant now, and the sound of shattering glass.

And then, nothing.

Byleth opened his eyes to a purple haze, and Nemesis’ eyes locked on his. They were fiery, dark, filled with hate and filled with an intense fear Byleth hadn’t seen the first time. He followed them to Nemesis’ blade, reaching out like a dark tendril to pierce his neck. Except, it hadn’t.

It just sat there, floating there, barely out of arm's reach.

Nemesis was frozen in his fighting stance, his ugly grimace unmoving. The rest of his soldiers were much the same. A bolt of lightning hung in the sky like it had been painted there. The rain hovered around him like glass jewels, collapsing as he moved against them. He kept his arms raised because he didn’t know what would happen if he lowered them. Magic pulsed in the corner of his eyes.

A soft voice came behind him.

“Byleth..?”

He let out a relieved sigh, and a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, it’s still me, Dimitri.”

“What have you done?” Dimitri’s footsteps came closer, as well as another pair not much further away. A wyvern screeched in the distance. A horse whinnied. A Nabatean roared.

“Did you just,” Edelgard’s voice was incredulous. “Did you just freeze everything?”

“Not everything,” he responded. Then he took a deep breath, and bellowed as loud as his lungs would let him.

_ “IF YOU CAN MOVE, ATTACK THE GENERALS! LEAVE AS MANY FATAL WOUNDS AS POSSIBLE!” _

With nothing to drown them out, he heard the chorus of voices within the battlefield. Confused, surprised, scared, hesitant to make a move. No one replied, at first.

And then someone screamed back at him.

_ “WHAT THE FUCK, PROFESSOR?” _

Byleth did his best not to collapse in a fit of laughter.

_ “JUST DO IT, FELIX.” _

There was another beat of silence, and then the sound of swords and lances and axes rang out as they collided with armor. Flashes of light burst from every corner of the field as enemies were lit up with magic. Rhea howled and began to ravage the field around her. Wind beat Byleth’s hair from his face as a wyvern landed next to him.

“Hey Teach,” Claude called out too casually.

“Hey Claude,” Byleth responded in an equal tone. Edelgard sighed with loud exasperation, clearly waiting for an explanation she wasn’t about to get.

“This seems like an underhanded way to win,” Claude admitted, sliding off his mount and nocking an arrow in Failnaught. He shot it nonchalantly at Nemesis, only for the arrow to disintegrate in his magic barrier. “Ah. How’re you gonna deal with that.”

“I admire your ability to really just roll with anything,” Byleth admitted. “And give me a second.”

Byleth did his best to keep the shaking out of his voice as he called out once more, ordering everyone to step back. He himself carefully moved out of the direction of Nemesis’ blade. Just in case.

Sweat began to roll down his face and neck, his hands shaking slightly as he closed his eyes and focused back on the magic pulsing around him, through him.

In a moment, he heard the sound of bodies thumping to the ground. Gasps of surprise rang out.

Nemesis’ shield was gone when he opened his eyes back up again.

Byleth felt his body tremble under the strain of it all. He still had a limit, it seemed.

“Claude, Edelgard, Dimitri,” he called, and the three young lords all gathered close to him. He didn’t dare turn his gaze from Nemesis, putting all his focus on him. He was grateful to feel Dimitri’s hand on his back. “Your turn. And as a favor to me,” he added, gritting his teeth in what he knew had to be a twisted smile, “Make it painful.”

They hesitated, just for a moment.

Then Claude wordlessly shot an arrow into Nemesis’ eye. Another one, and another one, leaving half a dozen feathers poking from every vital point on Nemesis’ body.

He stepped back, and gestured forward. “Your turn, Little Empress.”

Edelgard’s disapproving frown never left her face, looking from Claude to Byleth and finally to Nemesis. She glanced back at Hubert, and all he could offer her was a resigned shrug. “Fine,” she sighed. “Though I would much have rather done this to Thales.”

She walked up to Nemesis, Aymr raised. Byleth could see her own arms trembling under the weight of her weapon, and he was thankful she’d not been forced to fight for real. Though it didn’t stop her strikes from being fierce and relentless, her axe embedding itself deep into Nemesis’ neck and chest and stomach. She let out an angry shout with every blow, one after another until her hands were as red as her gown.

She avoided taking Nemesis’ head, and looked back to Byleth as if to say she did what he’d requested. She returned to her spot next to Dimitri, lightly punching his arm. “Go on.”

Byleth did his best to smile at Dimitri when he looked over, but he was certain the strain on his face was clear as day. He didn’t move from Byleth’s side. Instead, he merely pulled Areadbhar back, and sent it flying through Nemesis’ heart. Dimitri put his hand back on Byleth’s back.

“Step back for me,” Byleth said, and his three students did so.

Byleth lowered his hands, and let go of his hold on time.

Nemesis’ Creator Sword flew by his head, just barely sending a gash through his cheek as it retracted back to its original position. In the same second, Byleth took hold of his own and sent it flying, wrapping it around its twin and ripping it from Nemesis’ hands.

Nemesis still made the motions of battle for a few moments longer. Desperate, unearthly growls came from his throat, pierced by arrows and ripped to shreds by an axe. He stepped forward on heavy feet, beginning to claw at the arrows gouging out his eyes. Growls turned to gargled screams, his hands finding the shaft of Areadbhar embedded deep in his chest. Nonsensical words and names tumbled from his mouth along with old, rotten blood.

It was a pathetic, painful end his students didn’t even wait around to see. Claude was back in the sky, his wyvern taking one of Nemesis’s guards with him in its claws. Hubert and Edelgard began to dispatch the remaining soldiers on his other side. Dimitri wordlessly ripped Areadbhar out of Nemesis’ chest before he ever collapsed to the ground, leaping back into the fray to find the class he’d left behind.

Byleth was left alone to watch Nemesis writhe in pain, his army collapsing as he did.

He had no eyes with which to see Byleth, but his face had turned up towards him anyways. The Dark Creator Sword began to disintegrate where Byleth had thrown it. He was left as nothing more than a common thief.

Something deep inside of Byleth hated him, and something even deeper felt pity.

“I won’t let this happen again, never again,” Byleth swore.

A part of him swore to Sothis. He mostly swore to himself.

This would never happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed, there's one more little update for you all. <3 Lets finish this thing out. 
> 
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	32. A Caretaker's Guide to Beast Taming

Dimitri knew he needed to get out of bed.

He really needed to have been out of bed an hour ago.

But it was so big, and soft, and even all these months later he hadn’t grown used to sleeping in a bed like the ones he grew up in. Not to mention it was beginning to grow cold in Faerghus once again, and keeping curled up under the sheets was his only protection from the frigid air of his room. 

Sure, he could have gotten up to start the fireplace to fix that issue but again, that required getting up. 

He looked out the window for the umpteenth time that morning, watching the clouds roll over a grey sky, the first flurries of the year plastering against the window pane. He was excited to see snow again. More so, he was excited for the coming winter and the excuse to finally give Byleth the present he’d had prepared for ages now. 

He wasn’t about to go drop a mound of flesh and fur on his shoulders again, so maybe the present wouldn't have the same— well, he supposed Byleth would consider it “charm”. But it was a gorgeous fur cloak nonetheless. White with speckled greys and silvers, something that would look nice when his hair rested against it, something to make his eyes shine even brighter than usual. 

He hoped Byleth would like it. 

He groaned as he sat up, ignoring his own shivering as he shoved himself off the bed and grabbed a robe to wrap himself up in. After weeks of constant work and meetings and important kingly things, he was immensely thankful for the couple days of peace he had. It was hard not to still feel guilty for taking that time, but it was a promise he and Byleth had made to each other. Something both of them continued to work at, and something Byleth was much more insistent on. He was denied all-nighters and early rises deemed to be “too early”. For every two weeks straight of work, he was required to take two days to himself, and that was after Dimitri whittled his demands down a little. When he would accidentally schedule travel back to back, Byleth would accompany him just to make sure he was eating and sleeping properly. How he managed to do that despite his own packed schedule he wasn’t completely sure. Dimitri suspected the abuse of time powers, which Byleth vehemently denied. 

It was a bit of a nuisance, and there were more than a couple evenings Dimitri still found himself working in secret when something absolutely needed his attention. But he did his best to respect Byleth’s wishes, because he understood. It was hard to grasp that Byleth had already once seen him work himself to death, but if that was something he could keep from happening again, then Dimitri would listen. 

And having a slow morning or two was something he couldn’t help enjoying, even if he would have rather woken up to Byleth curled up next to him. But, Byleth had his own responsibilities to attend to. He would be back later, at least. He was lucky Byleth spent as much time in Faerghus as he did.

They’d been inseparable for the first couple months after the war ended. After Nemesis’ defeat, everyone returned to their home countries battered, exhausted, but alive. They’d suffered losses, painful ones, but Dimitri was forced to accept his selfish happiness that his classmates had survived. All of Byleth’s students had made it out alive. Byleth had miraculously held it together when he’d found out. He only broke down behind closed doors, when he expressed the same guilt Dimitri felt. Guilt, and relief. 

Dimitri knew, even when he’d made that promise, that he wouldn’t always be able to protect everyone. He knew, even if that knowledge ate away at him. It was another thing to work on, the self-loathing and guilt and everything he’d been battling up until then and continued battling now. And he would. But in that moment, he’d only been relieved. He’d kept his promise, at least to the ones he still owed the world and more to. 

With no Garreg Mach to return to, the Blue Lions happily carted them back to Fhirdiad. He knew the rumors had already begun spreading that he was still alive, but Dimitri was no less startled by the sheer mass of people waiting for his return. It was overwhelming, more than anything. A happy kind of overwhelming, but one that also made him want to hide in an empty room for a couple days afterwards. Thankfully, Rodrigue was kind enough to set something like that up for him.

Cornelia had vanished, to no one’s surprise. Whatever her real identity was, when word got out that the Agarthans had fallen, she must have fled. They were working closely with Hubert’s people, hunting down the remaining ones. Dimitri disliked the idea of imprisoning them only for the crime of being Agarthan, and he fought against the idea. But for those like Cornelia, he was less forgiving. The Adrestrians could have her, it would probably be a less painful end for her than leaving her with him.

Dimitri paused for a moment, mulling the thought over as he prodded at the tinder in the fireplace, trying to will the fire into being. It was still odd to him, working with Adrestria and the Alliance. Yet there they were. Working with tension between them, certainly, but working peacefully. Working to make each other’s dreams and beliefs a reality. 

It started with Edelgard and Claude attending his own crowning ceremony. 

It was unprecedented, and also not his idea. Frankly, if Dimitri had had his way it would have been exclusively Byleth, it would have lasted five minutes, and then he would have gone and had a nice dinner with his friends and not the massive banquet he was forced to attend for too many hours with too many aristocrats too eager to weasel their way into his good favor. 

But no, Byleth had insisted everyone come. At the very least it meant many of the rows spread out in front of him had been made up of familiar faces. It had eased his nerves, and before his mind had managed to muddle through the remaining haze of anxiety he suddenly found himself King of Faerghus.

He still couldn’t believe that. He still couldn’t believe he would make a very good king either. Growing up that was all he had ever been told. Too soft, too idealistic, too easily manipulated, too easily hurt. 

Byleth insisted that wasn’t always a bad thing. And even if it was, Dimitri hadn’t much of a choice. There was change that needed to be done, and only he could do it, and if it was any kind of step to making up for the pain he’d caused so many people, then he would fight through it. 

He hoped Claude and Edelgard thought something similar.

Edelgard hadn’t stayed for the celebration after his crowning, though a fair number of her Eagles did. He didn’t blame her. Only a couple months after she officially declared an end to the war and a peace treaty was formally signed, there were still deep feelings of bitterness towards Adrestria’s Empress. Many sneered at her presence, claiming it was nothing but a publicity stunt. Others whispered how much they would like to see her pay for the deaths of their loved ones lost at war. 

Dimitri thought she deserved to see and hear the thoughts of his people. 

But he also wanted her to be safe, so when she bid him a stiff congratulations and farewell, he didn’t try to argue with her. It was also why he was startled, in the small moment where no one was in the hall but Dedue and Hubert standing dutifully by their rulers, when she pulled him into a brief hug. Barely one, more half of a hug, where a small arm attempted to wrap itself around the excessive amount of cape and formal robes he’d been forced to wear, and the other simply gave up. She pulled away before he even had a moment to reciprocate it, turning without a word and stalking off. For a time, he thought he’d hallucinated it. He’d wished she’d stayed a little longer. 

Claude, on the other hand, he was ready to tie to a wyvern and send back to the Alliance by the end of the night. 

Nowadays though, he found himself longing to meet with him again. The Alliance Duke seemed to spend more time in Almyra than Fódlan, now that his heritage wasn’t much of a secret. With the support of two other countries, there was little anyone could do politically to rid him of his position now. He’d gotten a letter or two, and it seemed things were progressing quickly. A possible treaty could be drafted by the end of the year, and Claude was already beginning to turn his attention to what he could do for Sereng. He and Sylvain had become close pen pals as a result. Claude also mentioned putting pressure on Adrestria to give Brigid their independence once more, something he requested Dimitri’s assistance for. He agreed, obviously, as long as Claude would put in a good word with Almyran traders about the land of Duscur far to the north.

He missed Dedue terribly, too. 

It was bizarre not having him at his side. Certainly, there were times he was too busy to notice, and other times he was thankful he didn’t have to sheepishly ask Dedue to leave him and Byleth alone. But he couldn’t help but feel as though he was missing a limb, something he made up for with frequent trips to Duscur. It was a beautiful land, and he’d never seen Dedue smile as much as he had working to rebuild beside his people. For a time it had become a sort of tradition, once a month he and many of his classmates would visit to assist in whatever it was Duscur needed from them. One time, Ashe simply stayed there. Dedue’s smile then was something Dimitri wished to hold onto forever. He and Byleth had a silent bet going on as to whether Ashe and Dedue would be wed first, or Sylvain and Felix. It seemed to remain a tight race, no matter how much Felix tried to deny any possibility of there being a race at all. 

There was a third couple Dimitri thought of, too. And the thought made his stomach curl in on itself. He backed from the fireplace and opened the door to the next room to let the heat travel to both. A work room that badly needed to be organized, between his mess and Byleth’s. He tried to avert his eyes from the stack of papers looming on his desk, instead peering over at the smaller one beside it. 

Byleth only spent so much time in Fhirdiad, but he spent enough to warrant having a workspace. He’d tried to give him his own office, but Byleth said no and Dimitri wasn’t actually all that keen on arguing with him. 

Byleth instead spent much of his time travelling, usually to different churches scattered about Fódlan. He’d yet to take the position of Archbishop, even though Rhea had stepped down. Partially by force, it was the one requirement of the peace treaty that Edelgard had demanded. Dimitri wasn’t all that sure where Rhea was, but he thought maybe that was for the best. Byleth still visited her from time to time, though he never seemed very happy about those trips. 

The Knights of Seiros had disbanded in its entirety, though many stayed with Seteth and Flayn, working on rebuilding Garreg Mach’s officer’s academy. There were talks about opening it up as a school focusing on leadership, rather than warfare. And it would no longer be a school for the nobility, or a school with forced ties to the church. Dimitri was eager to see what it could become. He had already made plans to visit. 

Byleth had said he was considering returning as just a professor, though he seemed unconvinced by his own words. He really had no role at the moment, and Dimitri could see the way he was being pulled every which way by everyone around him. For the time he was content playing peacemaker for the church, doing his best to keep his identity hidden. 

It was getting harder to hide, unfortunately. There were more physical changes, little things that Byleth had to learn to hide before the time came that the world could know who he really was, or what he was.

He was very good at hiding that it bothered him, but those close to him had caught on. Even Edelgard, whom he’d been surprised to receive another short letter from a little while back. They’d been working closely the last few months, Byleth taking her suggestions on how to restructure the church. He stubbornly refused to let her remove it entirely from Enbarr, something Edelgard also bemoaned about in her letter. But mostly she just spoke of the way he feigned a passion for the church, and how listless he became when surrounded by bureaucrats who already spoke of him as if he were Archbishop. 

She had taken him to see an opera in Enbarr, one evening. Dorothea was performing. He seemed to have enjoyed himself. 

She also wrote to him about her plans to upheave the nobility system in Adrestria, in a way that really said ‘you should do the same thing’. He politely explained that Faerghus nobility is a different culture than in Adrestria, and the work he was doing to restructure it would have to be a slower process. Though he supported her radical changes, he really did. 

She would respond that he was being too slow and no change would be made, he responded that she should be weary of a change so drastic it could put her common people’s livings at risk, and they would respond back and forth like that until at some point the letters devolved to wondering whether or not the other had gotten any better at dancing, until a new proper political topic was brought up.

And that had become the relationship with his half-sister. It was spotty, and short, and terse more often than not. They disagreed on things constantly, they disapproved of each other’s ruling styles and policies. He believed in her ability to bring Adrestria to peace and prosperity while also not being able to trust a single thing she said. He would never forgive her, even as he wrote that he was happy to hear from her again.

He hated her and he loved her, and he found that as complicated a relationship as they had, he still found himself thanking the universe that in whatever little way, he had his El back.

Papers with her notes scrawled all over the corners were spread out in nonsensical piles on Byleth’s desk. He’d just returned from Enbarr a week ago, and Dimitri had been ecstatic to have him back. He scanned his desk, curious to see what inevitably would be shoved under his nose once he was allowed to return to work, only to settle on a single notebook sitting delicately atop everything else. 

The leather cover was worn and beaten to hell and back. He didn’t really want to consider where each little stain had come from, but considering Byleth had insisted on bringing it with him into battle, he had a few ideas. It was a miracle it had survived at all, many of the inner pages water damaged and others torn to shreds at the edges. 

Dimitri hesitantly picked it up, sitting down at his own desk. 

He flicked through the first few pages with relative ease. His own messy handwriting describing events of the day, just a little before he was enrolled in Garreg Mach. He’d read somewhere, long ago, that keeping a journal was good for those who had trouble keeping their thoughts under control. He’d thought it would help him survive the year. Maybe a bit too optimistic of him, though it had turned out to be useful in the end, he supposed.

He paused on the first page Byleth was mentioned. He recalled those feelings of anxiety, and wondered if Byleth already had known he’d felt them. How gentle and kind he was from then on, how often he invited him to tea and gifted him flowers and baubles he wouldn’t be able to break, all to ease his worries. 

All to show him he wasn’t alone, Dimitri realized. That he was loved, had always been loved. 

Byleth had done everything in his power to make his academy life easy and happy and full of as much joy as he could muster, all while knowing what was to come, and all while shouldering the burden of guilt for it.

Dimitri stopped reading for a long moment, biting his lip. 

When he continued, it was more hesitantly. He scanned certain passages without reading them, trying not to notice the way his handwriting had grown jerkier, harsher, with more deep splotches of ink where he’d broken quill after quill. 

He flipped through pages and pages of threats. It was a relief when one page showed nothing at all.

Yes, maybe he’d been too optimistic to believe keeping a journal would be of any help.

He continued to page through, not really knowing why himself. He knew there was more, of course, he’d been the one to write it. He’d stumbled across his journal when he’d returned to Garreg Mach. As deep as he was in his own psychosis, he found it to be a life line he still clung to. He wrote in it whenever he managed to find a pen and ink to use on it, which wasn’t terribly often.

He tried to ignore those entries too. He had no idea why he was bothering reading them, aside from one small part of him that wished to go back. To find the beast cowering in the monastery cathedral, and show him a small piece of hope. That one day Byleth would come back, and together they would learn how to be human again. And that maybe not being human wasn’t so bad after all. That maybe it was okay to just be who they were.

It sounded immensely cheesy, now that Dimitri thought about it more. And the thought made him smile like an idiot.

He loved Byleth, so much. So very much. 

He should tell him that.

He did, all the time, too much and his friends made sure he knew they thought it was too much. But he also knew that Byleth still read his journal from time to time. He could imagine Byleth’s little smile when he would flip to another page and find a new little message, just reminding him of something he already knew. Dimitri grinned to himself, scrounging up a quill pen and ink, and flipped to a fresh page.

Only, it wasn’t fresh. It had writing on it. Messy writing, nearly chicken scratch, but not in the same way Dimitri’s was.

A date from what felt like ages ago was scrawled in the corner, and an entry was hastily scrawled below it.

_So, I don’t know if I’m going to really use this. But I think it might be a good idea to keep track of everything that’s happening. I’ve got two extra years, I need to use them right. I can fix Dimitri in two years, right? Or maybe fix isn’t the right word. I don’t know. I just want him to talk to me more. We went hunting today, and he’s just been… Weird, so far? I can’t really guess what he’s thinking. He dropped a fresh animal skin on me which was gross. But also kind of sweet. I think I can make it into a decent shawl. How he’s been acting though, it kind of feels like I’m trying to train an animal of some kind. Maybe that’s what I should call this section. Not a diary but uh… Byleth’s Guide To Beast Taming, made by Byleth for Byleth. Wish me luck._

Dimitri reread the passage nearly half a dozen times, as if he needed help registering that it was really there. And it was, along with dozens upon dozens more. Byleth really had started using his journal. He read through each one slowly, meticulously, even if there was a growing voice in the back of his head that he was intruding on something. 

He would apologize later, he promised himself.

Most of the entries he recognized, or at least could place what had happened around the time. A few remarking on how he’d carried Byleth back to his bedroom again that day, no matter what strange place Byleth had fallen asleep in. One that was sloppier than usual and painful to read, recounting how he had to write in the morning because he’d spent the night at Dimitri’s bedside, after he’d attempted to dig out his eyes. Then softer things, plans for his birthday, his reaction to a first kiss Dimitri regretted to this day. One week Byleth was prouder than ever before with his progress, another he lamented a backslide. The day he attacked Byleth. Another regret. Some entries were jarring, one that was nothing but introspection about his own guilt for keeping his time resets secret, beside another that laid out detailed plans for hypothetical battles, besides yet more that were nothing but recounts of whatever could have been considered dates by their standards. 

Dimitri had to admit he was a little startled at how freely Byleth spoke in writing about him. Rather, his body. Dimitri rubbed the blush away from his cheeks, and quickly skimmed over some entries that he felt a bit more shame for snooping on. 

He wrote of reunions, of admissions, he wrote of guilt again and again and again. The longer Dimitri read, the sadder the entries grew. There were moments of hope interspersed, but Byleth’s fear of the future and fear of himself grew to be overwhelming. He doubted everything he did, and he seemed to hate himself more and more as time went on. Just as he was admiring Dimitri’s growth, Byleth was falling apart.

It hurt Dimitri’s heart more than anything. And then all of a sudden, it stopped again. 

Or rather, it didn’t stop. But the tone had. And so did what Dimitri remembered. There was a long gap between entries, spanning from the Shambhala battle to when things finally settled down. At some point, Byleth had chosen to pick up a pen again. 

_I’m back. It’s been awhile, huh? Nemesis is dead, that’s good. I learned how to get pretty good control of time. Which is a weird sentence to write. I don’t know how to feel about this. Everyone had been referring to me as a goddess for a while now, but it never felt real. Even with the fancy outfit. Now it does. I don’t feel any different, my heart still won’t make any noise. But it still feels real. I’m a little scared about what it means. But I guess I’ve got a long time to figure that out. For now I just want to support Dimitri. _

_It’s been a while since I’ve been in Fhirdiad. Some of it’s bringing back weird memories, but everyone’s too happy for me to be upset. We had a bit of a welcoming party that none of us were ready for. Poor Dimitri looked like he was going to pass out. But we have a room in the castle here, and I’m looking forward to sleeping in a bed that big. I think it’ll help both of us calm down. All I can think about now is falling asleep in his arms. _

_Dimitri’s going to be king officially, tomorrow. I’m so proud of him. He’s terrified, but I know he’ll do great. I managed to convince Edelgard and Claude to show up, I figure they’ll bring their old classmates. He won’t be alone. I know he’ll be amazing. I can’t wait to see him change the world the only way someone like him could._

_I’m travelling to Leiciester this week. I’ve been doing so much damn travelling, who decided churches should be this spread out. But I’ve gotta fix this rift. Who knows, maybe we can even start to reach out to the religions in other countries. I still don’t know how to introduce myself though. Professor Byleth is all I have. I don’t want to be Archbishop, I don’t think. Not yet. I wish Dimitri was with me. I’d like to talk to him about this. I’d like to talk to him about a lot of things._

_Arrived in Enbarr today, staying in Edelgard’s castle. Might get assassinated, we’ll see. She’s just as grumpy as ever, and keeps pointing out things. The ears, this time. Thought I had them covered better. I don’t want to have to hide this stuff around her since she already knows, but now I think I should. I want to go back to Fhirdiad. Dimitri says my smile is beautiful, fangs or not. And it feels nice when he plays with my ears. I miss him so much. I love him so much._

_I’m going home today. It’s all I can think about. Which is impressive, because home is cold as shit already. I hope they’re all keeping warm. I wonder what it would look like if I froze time on snow. Maybe I can try one day. Capture a snowflake and keep it from melting, show it to Dimitri. That seems like a nice thing to use these powers for. I wonder if it would make him smile. I miss his smile._

_We’re so close. I can’t take being apart for so long. I think all that time in the monastery broke me, I want it back. I miss talking and laughing and kissing and being held. I miss being at his side for real. I’ve been thinking a lot about that. I think it’s too soon, but I still can’t get it out of my mind. Too soon, what am I saying. It’s a couple lifetimes too late at this point._

_Back home. I’ve never been happier to be back at Dimitri’s side again. He’s done so well, I think he’s doing better than I am. But I get to sleep in bed next to him tonight, so I’ll be okay. I still can’t stop thinking about doing something stupid, though. _

_I don’t know if dad would care if I kept my last name. Eisner. I like it, but obviously he can’t take it. I think there’s a rule about that somewhere. Maybe I can hyphenate it. Though, I think dad would just want me to be happy. I would be so, so happy._

_I’ve been doing so much thinking my brain hurts. Sothis would be giving me so much shit right now. I still don’t really know what I want to be. Professor, Archbishop, Goddess, whatever. Well, I guess that’s a lie. I know what I want to be, at least right now. The rest can come later. I just want to be his husband. More than anything else in the world, that’s what I want. Forever, however long forever is for us. _

_I’m going to ask. I’m going to ask before the end of the week. Wish me luck._

Dimitri snapped the journal shut, clasping a hand to his mouth. All he could do was sit there in silence, feeling the heat creep through his face, his heart hammering against his chest.

He nearly fell out of his chair at the sound of his bedroom door opening. He rushed to the doorway, still gripping his journal. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Byleth smiled, already kicking off his boots. He’d switched back to his normal black attire since he’d returned. He still looked gorgeous. Everything about him, but mostly his smile. Dimitri loved that smile. “I only had the one meeting this morning so you have me for the rest of the day.”

He stood in the doorway, only gaping at him. He was vaguely aware of how red his face was. 

Byleth’s smile wobbled as he cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong?” His eyes traveled down from Dimitri’s face, only to settle on what was out of place in his hands. “Your journal? What are you doing with that?”

“I, I—” Dimitri stammered, wobbling forward and suddenly pulling Byleth into a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of his neck. At some point he’d dropped the journal just to pull him closer against him. Byleth could only make a confused squeak, leaving Dimitri to choke out the only response he had in his mind.

_“Yes.”_

“Yes?” Byleth echoed, confused even as he wrapped his own arms around Dimitri’s waist. When Dimitri didn’t respond, Byleth thought harder. It took a minute for him to put it all together, and when he spoke, it was with resigned amusement. As though it was bound to happen this way. “Oh no, Dimitri,” he whispered, beginning to hold back a giggle even as his nerves began to shoot out of control. “You were supposed to let me ask first.”

“Ok,” he mumbled, and Byleth choked out a laugh. He pulled away slightly, just enough for their foreheads to rest against each others’. His cheeks were already red, and he was sniffling. “Ask me.”

Byleth beamed up at him, choking back his own tears long enough to get the question out. “Will you marry me?”

Dimitri lifted Byleth up into his arms, holding him so he would never have to let go, so Byleth would never be left alone. He nuzzled his face up against him, laughing and crying and marveling at how much he loved this one beautiful, incredible, inexplicable being. How much he would give his heart to him for as long as it would beat. 

“Yes, my beloved. I’ll love you forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.  
<3
> 
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